The Ghost Prince
by NightmarePrince
Summary: The Dark Lady has completed her ritual and has brought The Lord of Shadows back to the world. The Hallows lie twisted and broken as Death has been set free once more, in payment of resurrecting a soul who should never have died. With Daemons and Shadows walking the Earth once more, who will win the apocalyptic fight? The Order...or the Cult of Shadows? Book 3 of The Lord of Shadows
1. Prologue

**The Ghost Prince**

**Prologue**

"_I felt her fingers twitch," a strange voice – one she was sure that she knew – cracked through the antiseptic laden air, cool and harsh to her nostrils as she took in shallow breaths. There was hope in that voice, dull and almost lost, but still there._

"_These things happen, Mr. Malfoy," murmured a stranger voice, a feminine tone wearied and haggard, her words punctuated with the tapping of a quill against a clipboard, "Your sister has been in a coma for six months . . . subconscious movements such as those occur quite frequently in such long term cases."_

"_I know how long she's been here," murmured the man – she couldn't tell who, it could be either of her brothers – and there was an edge to his voice now, "I want to know how much longer I have to wait for her to wake up."_

"_These things take time, Mr. Malfoy," the Healer replied, "We can just hope."_

Her meagre grasp of consciousness slipped, once more plunging her into the darkness of her dreams.

The world is shadowed by an ethereally grey twilight for neither sun nor moon shine upon her island. The lull of cresting waves against the shore often soothes her to sleep, a dull, restless existence in which there are no coherent thoughts save for the tangled web of her sorrows. A light breeze wafts across the dimly lit shores, the scraggly palms waving their tattered leaves to the empty sky.

It was a realm bleached of colour and joy, created only by her sorrow and her pain. Her own personal prison, one that existed within her own mind, an incarceration that was as inescapable as it was bleak.

There were days when the sun rose for a few minutes, when abstract thoughts of a raven haired girl would slip past her crumbling hold on sanity and reason, lilting laughter and bright grin delivering her from the suffocating despair which engulfed her. Then she would see the girl's eyes, emerald green and bright with life, and she would be reminded of another pair of eyes, identical, and her mourning would begin anew.

Cassiopeia shivered as the cold breeze bit into her pale skin, her teeth chattering together as she wept on the shores of her island.

"_Is mummy ok?" a young child whispered, slender fingers – the kind which was perfect for an artist – ghosted across her own still hand._

"_I hope so," she's heard this voice once before in a storm of white fire and Daemonic majesty. She can't tell who it is though, something within her refuses to acknowledge what is nought but another knife through her slowly beating heart. _

"_I miss her," the girl said as a name slid through Cassiopeia's mind –Aurora – before fading away like a ribbon of smoke in a gale, "Do you?"_

"_I never knew her," the boy's voice stung at her, warm and energetic, yet stained by the grave. _

There's a storm coming, she can see the onslaught of black clouds upon the horizon. Crashing arcs of purple light strike at the ashen sea as the lightning rears, the sweet music of roaring thunder filling her ears as it hastens to her island.

She doesn't move from her sea upon the gravelly beach, not even when the first fat drops of icy water begin to fall. It's just another day for her because the elements hold no sway over those with a broken heart. Had she not already been burned by wind and fire, drowned by water, buried by earth and broken in spirit?

She was a ghost of sorts, lacking corporeal form whilst still maintaining her soulless body. It's a grim penance for one who only desires death . . . to be forced to stay alive with one foot beneath a headstone and the other firmly upon the ground.

Why can't they just let her fly free beyond the veil?

There's nothing left for her in life. She has a child, a girl now old enough to fend for herself and with numerous relatives to aid her. Was it so wrong for her to simply want to rest? To fall into the silent slumber and dance with her husband again?

Albus . . .

"_Mum, I know you're in there . . . please wake up," it's the boy's voice again, haunted and melancholy as it washes over her._

"_Please, mum," he whispered, and she feels a strong hand close around her wrist, "I need you . . ."_

_For a brief second she tried her hardest, because he's called her mum even though she has no son – not anymore, not since he had been slain in her womb – but then the urge is gone and she's fading again._

The air is sweet with the scent of black roses, once a symbol of her love and now a grotesque imagery of her loss. She remembered her wedding, in the Rose Garden of Narcissa Malfoy, she remembered the look of love upon her husband's face as she had said her vows.

She remembered the way he kissed her, unbridled passion and adoration flaring within them both after she had laid his hand across her belly and declared herself to be carrying his son.

"What are you doing?" there's a woman sitting beside her, clad in black, face and hair hidden by a delicate veil.

"Trying to die," murmured Cassiopeia, looking out over the rolling waves with a dull look in her silver – faded to grey – eyes. Her beauty was traced with tragedy, the first crinkles around her eyes formed by years and years of tears.

She doesn't even question the person beside her, even though she notes that the eyes are as silver as only a Malfoy's can be and the few wisps of hair that are visible from beneath her veil are platinum blonde.

"Why though?"

"Why not?"

"Your husband and children are waiting for you, you know."

Her head whipped towards the stranger, eyes flashing with anger because how dare this _creature _speak of those she had lost. Albus . . . Leo . . . perhaps now even little Aurora, all gone too far from the fluttering grasp.

"My husband and son are dead," snarled Cassiopeia.

"Are they really? Has so much time passed since I last drew breath that death has now become a finality rather than a triviality?" the woman seemed to smirk as she reached up to undo her veil. The black cloth slid to the ground and as it was blown away, Cassiopeia recoiled in shock at the sight before her.

She knew this woman. She had a portrait of her own in the attics, where all those ancestral Malfoys had been hung up to collect dust. Her father used to take her to see them when she was but a child and he had made her learn their names by heart.

"Cassandra," breathed Cassiopeia, "The Mad Queen."

"They called me mad for they saw not what I saw," replied Cassandra Malfoy, a relic from centuries before, "But I was the wisest of them all. As is your daughter."

"What does Aurora have to do with you?" snapped Cassiopeia, defensiveness flaring in her voice.

"I thought you no longer cared," Cassandra smirked.

But she did care. Aurora was the only person that had kept her alive all these years, living in a world without her husband and son. Her daughter was hers to protect, hers to raise . . . Morgana have mercy; she needed to awaken. She needed to be there for her child. It was flooding back to her, Cassandra's words having triggered the dam to burst and she was bombarded by memories, some bittersweet but all woven with love.

"Go home, Cassiopeia," smiled Cassandra, "Because Aurora needs you . . . Leo needs you . . . Albus needs you . . ."

Cassiopeia nodded as her ancestor faded, gossamer strands of white gold dissipating from her smiling form as her words lingered on the wind.

"_It has been seven months!" cried her oldest brother, "I'm tired of seeing her like this!" His hand was holding her own, fingers intertwined as she heard the frightened whimper of the Healer. She didn't envy the girl, nobody had a temper as Black as Scorpius did where the welfare of his family was concerned._

Her eyes flared open, blinking in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting. The Healer saw her first and gasped, clipboard clattering to the floor in shock. Scorpius was rising to his feet, his hand drifting from hers as he no doubt prepared to stalk towards the quaking women and give her a piece of his mind.

"Scorpius," croaked Cassiopeia, her throat dry and parched, her voice cracked with disuse. The blond man whirled around to face her as she grasped his wrist and pulled, weakly for she still lacked so much of her strength.

"Cassie," he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes as they met her own.

"I want to see my daughter . . . and my son."

(*)(*)(*)

**A/N: So this is Chapter One of Book 3: The Ghost Prince, the third part of The Lord of Shadows Series. For those new to the series, I recommend reading Book 1: The Good Son, and Book 2: Call Me Home before continuing with this arc of the story. **

**Reviews, as always, are appreciated and I would love to hear what you all think of this new instalment.**


	2. Chapter 1

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter One**

**We Never Forget **

Alison yawned as the bright fingers of dawn crept in through the windows, her eyelids creaking open as she became aware of her husband's absence. She sighed as she climbed out of bed, wondering why her boys weren't yet awake and yelling for their breakfast – Trystane and Daniel had both inherited the Weasley appetite – when the answer became clear. It was Saturday and they were both probably to engrossed in watching the early morning cartoons to be bothered by food. Trys made be about to start his first year of Hogwarts and Danny may be nine . . . but both boys loved _Pokemon._

Alison had watched a few episodes with them when they had been younger and for the life of her had not been able to discern what was so great about the series. Over the years, and many various different televised series, she had come to the conclusion that childish youth was integral to appreciating animated series.

Quickly tying on her silky dressing gown and slipping on a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers – a well-worn gift from a previous Mothers' Day – she walked down the stairs to check on them before going about her morning routine.

A smile creased her lips as she stood at the foot of the stairs, her eyes fixed on the two boys curled into the sofa, gazes glued to the screen. Both boys had inherited the dishevelled Potter hair and despite her numerous attempts to straighten it, both of them maintained they liked their hair just the way it was.

"Morning boys," Alison rolled her eyes as they both made shushing motions in her general direction. Without another word she made her way to the bathroom.

She frowned as she passed her husband's study, noting how he hunched over his desk and studied the documents before him as though they were worth all the gold in the world. The past few months had marked a decisive change in James, forever killing the boy in him and birthing a stranger. He rarely, if ever, smiled these days. Laughter had become an abstract concept as far as he was concerned. He had become devoted to his work, channelling all his energy into The Order and into tracking down The Dark Lady, his mother's killer . . . but at the cost of neglecting his own health and family.

Today would not have been the first morning that Alison had woken to an empty bed, nor would it be the first time James had spent the night in his study, burning through several pots of coffee as he perused every little shred of evidence that the MLE had collected in the hopes that he may find a new lead.

Shaking her head tiredly, and knowing from experience that berating him for not coming to bed would only lead to an argument, Alison continued about her morning routine. She emphasized with James, as he had been the one who led the Order into the clearing where they had found his mother's decapitated corpse. This coupled with the return of his _miscarried nephew_,brought back to life by his deranged father's sacrifice and the news that Remy, his nephew, had gone into a deep state of depression since escaping the Cultists' dungeons had been too much for him. In order to cope, he had thrown himself into his work and forgotten the world around him.

It was not doing their marriage any favours, nor was it helping build his relationship with his sons. Trystane was due to start Hogwarts in a few months, there were questions and fears that a boy his age would never share with his mother. He needed a father right now and James just wasn't emotionally present these days.

Alison thanked Merlin for Teddy Lupin, who despite having his own son's depression to deal with, had stepped up and done the fatherly reassurances where Trys was concerned. It wasn't the same as it would have been had it come from the boy's own father – but Teddy was her boys' favourite uncle. They could cope . . . they would have too.

A half hour later, she stood at the stove, the sizzling of bacon filling the air as she scrambled a pan of eggs. A few tomatoes fried beside the bacon, infusing with the salty taste as she prepared breakfast for her family. Beside her, the toaster chimed as four slices popped out. Flicking her wand, Alison directed them onto the table and sent another four into the shiny, new appliance. She really didn't know how she had managed without these little, muggle gadgets in the past. They did tend to make life so much easier, especially since Malfoy Holdings now developed models that were 'magic-friendly'.

"Hurry up, mum!" exclaimed Trystane as he walked into the kitchen, yawning loudly as he plopped down at the table, "I'm starving."

"You weren't starving twenty minutes ago," pointed out Alison as with a second flick of her wand, the food was transferred from the pans into a trio of platters. A third flick sent them floating towards the table, just as Danny waltzed in and marched off to the refrigerator. Without so much as acknowledging either of them, he extricated a bottle of orange juice and served himself a tall glass of it.

"Pikachu makes me thirsty," he explained, when both his mother and brother stared at him with raised eyebrows.

Raising her hand to her mouth to mask her amusement, Alison settled down beside her sons to enjoy their breakfast, ignoring the nagging sensation that filled her mind because of the empty seat at the head of the table. It was odd that though her husband was alive and well, his absence was as notable in her life as was the absence of Albus in Cassiopeia's.

She sighed deeply before turning her full attention to the boys, listening with rapt attention as they outlined their plans for the day. Still, a part of her wished that James would forget his vendetta for just a day and rejoin the family – if only for a few minutes.

_I miss you, James. _

(*)(*)(*)

Cassiopeia reclined against the small mountain of pillows Francesca had insisted she be given, claiming that even in these troubled times family should not lack for comfort. Her mouth watered as she brought a spoonful of the savoury soup to her parched lips, the thick liquid running down her throat, causing her senses to scream with delight. It had been a long time since she had eaten anything as she had been sustained on potions along during her seven month coma.

She had just been awake a day now but had learned early on that her body could not yet handle heavy foods. The omelette she had been given for supper last night, courteousy of Lily Potter, the only one allowed to visit her save for Scorpius, had brought her. It was a sweet gesture, especially since Cass agreed with her future sister-in-law that hospital food left much to be desired. However, seeing as she had retched the delicious omelette up mere minutes after consuming it, it had been decided by Head Healer Lupin that she was to be fed on a liquid diet till her body had recovered from its ordeal.

Scorpius had then surprised her by cooking, a skill she hadn't been aware that he had possessed. It made sense though; he had after all lived on his own for a fair number of years before Lily had returned to Britain. It was just one of those little things that made her realise how much she had ignored those around her whilst she wallowed in her grief.

She needed to be stronger, especially now that, after much pleading on her part, she had been allowed more visitors. Victoire had been especially hesitant to allow her too many, considering that in her condition, another large emotional upheaval could send her back into a catatonic state. Despite this, Cassiopeia was a Malfoy, a Black, and a Slytherin but above all . . . she was a mother. It hadn't been difficult to play on Victoire and Francesca's matronly natures and convince them that she needed to see her children.

Her main concern was meeting the son that had died in her womb.

She wondered; had she not led such a melancholy existence for the past decade, would the news that her deceased son had been resurrected have elicited a deeper response from her? As it stood, after the long sleep in which she had conversed with Cassandra Malfoy, the thought of Leo filled her with a sense of elation rather than one of despair.

She wanted to see if he had her eyes or _his . . ._ if his hair, though coloured Malfoy platinum, would be as dishevelled as his father's had been. Cassiopeia just wanted to get to know him, to not fail him as she had failed him before. She didn't want to fail her children any more than she already had and to do that, she had to be strong.

The bowl had long since been drained and set to the sight when the sound of pensive knocking sounded on her ward door. Excitement at the thought of seeing her family welled in her heart as she settled back into the pillows and drew up the sheets to cover the immodest nightgown she had been clad in whilst comatose.

"Come in," she called out, her voice marginally stronger now than it had been when she had first awoken. To her ears, it was still rather rough and her throat was still strangely fond of constricting at odd moments, but at least it was better than the gravelly, broken sounds she had emitted when Cassandra had first forced her back to consciousness.

The door slid open, lacking the creak that the older ones had once held, and Cassiopeia started in surprise as she took in her guest. Jet black hair falling in loose bangs around his drawn face, Remy Lupin strode towards her, his gait so obviously missing the mischief he had been famous for. An air of depression hung over him like a second skin as he came up beside her bed and drew up a chair.

"I hope you're doing better, Aunt Cassie," he said in a wan voice.

"I am," she replied, "It's good to see you again, Remy," she smiled at him, dismayed at his lacklustre expressions and the lifeless look in his drab brown eyes.

_He's lost someone . . ._

The answer to the young man's suffering was so clear to her because had she not felt the exact same way when Albus and Leo had both passed on? Had she not felt as though a hole had been torn in her chest where her heart had once been located?

"Likewise," he forced a smile to his tired lips, "You gave us quite the scare."

"Scaring those we love seems to be a family trait where a Potter is concerned," she tried to make light of the situation before realising that any attempt at humour would carry no weight in this situation. For a long while, he sat in silence and Cassiopeia took in the newly refurbished hospital. Vaguely, she remembered snippets of conversation from her waking moments, news that St. Mungo's had been burned to the ground and then rebuilt three months after a series of attacks.

All such news was foreign to her, further enforcing the fact that she needed to find out what had been going on in the world since the curse had struck her in Malfoy Manor. Scorpius and Lily had been tight-lipped in that regard, both maintaining that she needed to recover her strength first.

"I need to ask you something," Remy managed after a while and Cassiopeia was taken aback to see his eyes glimmering wetly as he surveyed her.

"OK," she agreed, prepared to answer any questions she may have for him.

"During the fighting," he began, his voice becoming thick with emotion as he spoke, "I . . . somebody really important to me," he choked up and clenched his eyes shut. Cassiopeia reached out and clasped a slender hand around his wrist, a show of support and comfort as she nodded for him to go on.

"She didn't make it through the fighting," he whispered, his voice breaking halfway through the sentence, "and what I need to know is . . . will it ever stop hurting, Aunt Cassie?"

"Remy," she said softly, "That pain you feel . . . that heartache . . . it's not a punishment. It's a reminder that we were able to love somebody so truly, so irrevocably, that even death can't keep us from forgetting them."

"But will it ever end?" her heart went out to the boy sitting at her bedside, barely into his twenties and already lost his love to death.

"No," she answered honestly, because she had long since learned that lying caused more harm than the bitter truth, "You just need to find something or someone else to live for. . ."

(*)(*)(*)

Hermione sighed as she pushed open the door, not for the first time cringing at the newer, colder design of St. Mungo's. The hospital had once been warmer, more comforting as it were, than it was now. The damage inflicted by the Cultists had been lasting and even though they had rebuilt, it was evident in the harsh white light and ammonia heavy air that things were not as they should be.

Her stepdaughter had woken at a really bad time in terms of reunions. Delphin and Xavier had recently been able to persuade their wives to allow them to take most of the boys to see a Quidditch match in Italy and would only be back in three days time. Hermione understood both perspectives, the mothers wanted to keep their families locked in the faux safety of their homes whilst the fathers wished to allow their children a little excitement in these dark times. It was human nature and she for one was glad that the men had won out. After the events of the past seven months, Leo, Orion, Matthew and Riley all deserved a weekend of fun. Leo in particular would be sure to have a good time – this was his first Quidditch match.

It had struck her how easily he had been able to assimilate himself into the family but somehow he had managed to have integrated himself in such a way that it was impossible to believe he had been dead for most of his life. Orion, for one, had taken to his cousin quite quickly – Hermione assumed that this stemmed from them both being reintroduced to their families rather abruptly – and the two already seemed to be more brothers than cousins.

Though, she could really do without having to hear Orion call Leo, "Zombie-Boy."

Pushing thoughts of her grandchildren aside, Hermione turned her full attention to the patient reclining in the bed before them.

She moved quickly once the door was ajar, rapidly wheeling her husband into the room before it slid shut. It was hard to look at Draco these days, to remember the man he had once been – bright, mirthful and full of life – as compared to the hunched old man he had become. She often woke in the midst of the night in a cold sweat, often barely managing to stifle a scream, memories of the day when she had found him twitching in agony upon the floor always preying heavily on her soul.

She had come so very close to losing him and in a way she had, she had lost the man who could swing in grandchildren through the air and kneel beside their bedsides to tuck them in at night. He could barely walk now, often relying on his wheelchair or if that was impractical, stumbling along on his father's serpent headed cane.

His heart attack had weakened him, taken from her the man she had married . . . but at the same time, she was still grateful to have the man she loved alive and sleeping beside her every night.

In the era she lived in, one had to be thankful for what they given, not resentful of what they did not. Over the years, Hermione had learned that this was the only way to retain her sanity.

A gasp interrupted her train of thought and the Malfoy Matriarch inwardly cursed herself for not first informing Cassiopeia that Draco was no longer the dragon she remembered. He had been like this for so long now, since his heart attack seven months ago, that she had forgotten that Cassiopeia had never seen her father in this state.

"Good morning, Cassie," Hermione braved a tentative smile as she wheeled Draco towards the bed, her husband seeming to perk up at the sight of his daughter conscious and aware in her bed. She winced at the horrified look on her stepdaughter's face but she did not fault her. Draco seemed to have aged three decades in the space of half a year, his face having grown wrinkled, his eyes slightly sunken, and steel had long since overtaken the platinum of his hair.

"What happened?" she blurted out, not that Hermione blamed her.

"I suffered a massive heart attack a few months ago," answered Draco, his voice dry but there were tears in his eyes as he reached out a vein knotted hand to clasp over his daughter's, "as you can see, I didn't survive it completely unscathed."

"Dad," she spoke softly, a tremor in her tone as she blinked away a few tears and Hermione felt as though she were interrupting something private, something that she was forbidden to see.

"I'm not dead yet," Draco managed to smirk, as if reading her thoughts, "I've still got quite a bit of living left in me, Cassie."

"But why weren't you healed?" she asked, a faint frown crossing her face.

"There are some things that even magic cannot heal," said Hermione softly, taking a seat beside them. For the first time in her marriage she noticed that her hair truly, now fully grey save for a few tendrils of brown, matched that of her family.

"There must be a potion . . . or a spell," protested Cassiopeia.

"Unless you have a Philosophers Stone hidden up your sleeve," chuckled Draco, "there is no true cure for old age."

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, knowing he had putting on a brave face for his daughter. The truth, and only Hermione and Victoire knew this, was that Draco didn't have many years left. His heart had been badly damaged by the attack and as he had said, magic could only do so much. For a while there was silence whilst Cassiopeia seemed to ponder her father's words and the older couple exchanged furtive glances. They both knew that their time was long since passed, both of them nearing their late sixties. The days when Hermione and Draco could fight in a war were now condemned to the past, especially in her husband's case. Perhaps she could still hold her own, but she held no illusions that whilst her knowledge and magical strength had grown, her agility and physical prowess just couldn't compete with the younger generation.

The Cultists had been silent since their initial attacks, but Hermione was certain that they were far from gone. They were merely biding their time, preparing for their next grand assault. The resurrection of Leo seemed to have thrown them but they would be back, darker and more terrible than ever before. Of that she was sure.

This wasn't her war to fight anymore, nor was it Draco's – this was their children's fight and may Merlin and Morgana both watch over them.

(*)(*)(*)

**A/N: Thoughts? **

**Sorry about this update taking so long, real life has been a bit hectic recently. **


	3. Chapter 2

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter Two**

**Lion Cub**

Leo hesitated before the doors of the ward, unsure as to whether he should enter or remain in the pristine hallway. He did not know what it was that gave him pause but he was understandably quite nervous to visit his mother, whom he had never seen conscious. What if he wasn't good enough for her? What if he wasn't the son she had hoped to have raised and the disappointment was evident in her eyes?

A part of him knew that his reasoning was flawed, especially considering that he had watched her mourn his passing for ten long years as a Daemon. If anything, she would be elated to get the chance to know him, just as he was overcome with jubilation at the thought that he could finally feel his mother's embrace.

She had named him for a lion, one of the bravest of animals, and yet he was too cowardly to face her and risk his hopes being smashed to rubble.

"You going in anytime soon, Zombie Boy," asked Orion, coming up to stand beside him as he stood at the closed door, his hand closed around the handle but making no move to open it.

"I hate that name," he grumbled, thinking back to the weekend when Orion had introduced him to the zombie-apocalypse genre of movies. It was just after he had expressed curiosity as to why his younger – or older, depending on how you looked at it – cousin had insisted on calling him by that ridiculous nickname. Leo remembered quickly pointing out that he didn't eat brains and that his flesh wasn't in the midst of decomposing . . . but unfortunately, the moniker had stuck.

Deep down, he enjoyed being called "Zombie Boy" by his cousin. To him it meant that he had been accepted as a friend because didn't friends give each other nicknames? It had taken him a while to acclimatize to being alive again and he was duly grateful to Orion in particular for helping him adjust to the world. Aurora was good company but she was just too young to really understand him in the same way that Orion did.

"I know," grinned Orion, clapping him on the shoulder, "Now answer the question."

"I don't know," he sighed, closing his eyes as he felt his cousin's copper gaze on him, "I . . . what do I say to her? I've waited for this day for so long but . . ." he trailed off.

"I didn't know my dad for the first eleven years of my life," pointed out Orion sympathetically, before gesturing for Leo to take a seat on a nearby bench. Leo nodded and followed him, coming to rest upon the hard wood. He knew Orion's story, his cousin had filled him in on quite a bit of it during their initial encounters. Suddenly, the feeling that Orion was the one person he could associate with sprang to his mind and the puzzle pieces clicked. There was a reason they had been able to bond so quickly . . . they both had never known their families. Of course, his situation trumped his cousin's. As far as he knew, Orion had never died and then been brought back.

"Yeah, I know," said Leo quietly, "But –"

"I'm not done," interrupted Orion as he took a deep breath, as if steadying himself to say something he rarely spoke off, "When my mum and I moved to Britain, my father was with another bird."

"Your father was involved with a bird?" he said in disgust, "How is that even possible? What with the wings and the talons and all that?" His horror didn't abate in the slightest when Orion burst out laughing, clutching his sides as he doubled over in mirth.

"A bird is a slang term for a girl," choked out Orion, peals of laughter echoing through the quiet hallways.

"Couldn't you have just said that then?" blushed Leo, his cheeks burning bright red as he realized that he was still woefully ill-equipped to deal with the nature of being alive. Just the other day he had flown into a wall and broke his nose when his Uncle Xavier tried teaching him how to ride a broom.

It was humiliating that his almost eleven year old sister could fly better than he could.

"So what did you do when you found out?" asked Leo, trying to stop his cousin from laughing at him. It wasn't his fault that he had died. It was not his fault that he couldn't understand the colloquial and cultural references that everyone else could.

"I told him that if he couldn't be faithful to my mother then he should just fuck off," smirked Orion, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms behind his head, using his interlaced hands as a cushion.

"You told your father, the CEO of Malfoy Holdings, to _fuck off_ when you were eleven?" asked Leo incredulously, raising an eyebrow at the younger boy.

"Not in those exact words but that was the general idea," shrugged Orion, "and look at where we are now. Point is, mate, you need to man up and go see your mum."

"Ryan . . ." sighed Leo.

"I'm serious, mate. You say you were around the whole time so you know as well as I do that Aunt Cassie has spent the last decade grieving for you and your dad. You're alive again because of Merlin alone knows what, and this isn't just about you anymore. She needs you as much as you need her."

"You act like a git so often that I sometimes forget that you can be really smart at times," smiled Leo as he got to his feet and walked towards the door.

"At least you used the word _git_ properly in that sentence!" called Orion after him; sounding affronted as Leo opened the door and stepped into the room. He shook his head fondly before letting it slide shut, a tentative look on his face as he looked up at the woman who was staring at him from the hospital bed.

"Hey mum."

(*)(*)(*)

He felt their stares on him, equal mixes of pity and sympathy filling their gazes as their eyes followed him through the hallway. Their whispered comments echoed through his ears, sending shards of ice through his spine, his lupine hearing allowing him to hear what he really wished he couldn't. All his life he had considered his werewolf lineage a blessing . . . now though, he was certain that it was a curse.

What good had his enhanced physical abilities done him when Demitria had fallen? How could his sensitive hearing aid him now when all he could hear was their pity? How would his sense of sight and smell be of use now, when all he could see where their lingering expressions of misbegotten condolences?

He had failed her . . . and all his werewolf blood did was make sure he was reminded of it.

_His girlfriend died . . . _

_He shouldn't be here . . . _

_That poor boy . . . tortured . . . watched her die_

_Should never have joined the force so young._

He heard their assumptions no matter how hard he tried to tune them out. He didn't want their sympathy. He didn't want them to try and understand what he was going through.

They couldn't. They thought they did. They did not know what it was like to have lost someone who was as much a part of you as were your own arms and legs. In this regard, Remy finally understood why his Aunt Cassiopeia had changed so drastically from the ever-smiling, tenacious woman she had been in his youth into the ghost of herself that she was today.

He was tired of living in his depression though, not now when he had finally realised his purpose, not now that he had finally found a new reason to live.

Remy paused before entering the armoury, a grim look etched across his stubble-strewn face as he cleared his throat. The auror assigned to this room looked up from her desk, a few streaks of grey weaving through her black hair. She would have been beautiful had her left cheek not been marred by a trio of jagged scars. Isabella Nott, nee Goyle, had suffered at the hands of the Shadows more than most.

Not as much as he had though, no one could have suffered as much as he had. Even now, months after his imprisonment, he still felt the gaping hole that _her _death had punched through his heart.

"Remy," she said in surprise, looking up from her paperwork and gracing him with a sad smile, "I wasn't aware that you had been cleared for duty."

"I haven't," his tone was rough, but it was the best he could do. He needed to be strong, he couldn't let his anguish break through the walls he had sealed it away with.

"You know that you aren't allowed here in that case," she rebuked, an expression of utmost pity on her face as she stared into his dead, grey eyes.

"Isabella," he replied, hatred welling inside him at the sight of her pity, so condescending and aggravating, "I need your help."

"If Director Potter hasn't cleared you for active duty, you know I can't help you," sighed Isabella. Remy's eyes flashed angrily as he stood in front of her desk, before speaking in low, barely contained tones.

"You are an Outcast, are you not?" he asked, taking careful note as she flexed her right wrist, the wrist upon which he knew the Mark of the Outcast was branded into her flesh.

"Yes," she admitted, meeting his gaze with her own.

"As are your family," it was a statement not a question, but she nodded anyway. A look of confusion flitted across her steely eyes, obviously unsure of what she was getting at.

"Your father was killed by Cultists. May I ask who killed them?"

"Pansy Parkinson," she said softly, comprehension dawning on her as she began to shake her head.

"And who killed Pansy Parkinson?" Remy could tell that his questions distressed her, that they drew up memories that she would rather forget but he no longer cared. His mission – his reason for living – would not allow it.

"You did," she whispered.

"You owe me, Isabella, for avenging him," Remy snapped, "Now will you _help_ me?"

For the longest time, indecision played across her face and he watched as she bit her lip, fingers tapping erratically across her desk as she weighed her options. Finally, she let out a deep breath and looked up at him, a weary look on her face.

"What do you need?"

"The MLE has been gathering Goblin-made weapons for the past six months. I need a few of them."

"Remy," her eyes widened as finally, she fully understood his plan, his desires. Horror could be seen in the depths of her eyes and she swallowed nervously, "What you are asking could very well get me fired."

"You lost two brothers, a nephew and your father to the Cultist Attacks," Remy scowled at her, "You off all people should want revenge."

"The aurors–" she began, a drop of blood smearing across her lips from where she had bitten down to hard in her nervousness.

"Are too worried about protocol to accomplish anything! Bellatrix is still out there and Merlin knows what she's planning," he all but yelled, "I need to do this, Isabella . . . for Demitria."

"Demitria Pierce would not want this for you, Remy," Isabella snapped.

"WE'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT SHE WANTED FOR ME!" he shouted, causing her to flinch backwards in her chair as his anger slammed into her like waves against a cliff.

"Give me what I want, or I will take it myself, even if I have to blast you out of my way to do so," he continued through gritted teeth.

"I can have fifty aurors in here within ten seconds," shot back Isabella, her eyes flashing at the implications of his words. If it were a year ago, he would laugh at his brazenness, to threaten murder within the very heart of the MLE.

"You would be dead in five . . ."

Isabella Nott took a deep breath and got to her feet, closing her eyes briefly before opening them again. Quickly, she tapped the tip of her wand to her desk drawer, which opened with a soft click. Her hand fumbled for a moment as it disappeared within and then she straightened, holding an ornate silver key between her fingers.

"The doors to the armoury are sealed with magic and there are only three keys that can get you in. One is held by the Minister of Magic, the other is held by the Director of the MLE and this is the final one. The key is but the primary defence, upon entering; you will have to provide the room with your magical signature. Failing to do so will leave you with eleven seconds before an alarm is triggered, one that every auror in the department will respond to. The third shelf on the right has what you need."

Remy raised his eyebrows to her as she handed him the key, nodding before turning to leave.

"Remy," she stopped him, "One more thing."

"What," he turned his head to look at her.

"Stun me."

Remy nodded, understanding her logic. She had helped him – albeit grudgingly – but she had helped him. He would not want for her to come under investigation for doing so and she needed plausible liability to prove her innocence.

"Stupefy," the jet of red light flashing through the air and catching her in the chest. He didn't stick around long enough to hear her hit the floor, already on his way to the weapons vault located further down her wing.

He had found a reason to live and that reason was vengeance.

(*)(*)(*)

James groaned as he stepped out through the floo, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep, a dull pain throbbing through his lower back from where he had pulled a muscle earlier that day. He noticed that the house was silent – too silent – before it struck him that his family were already asleep. Dusting the soot from his jeans, he headed for his bedroom when a tuft of dishevelled black hair caught his eyes.

Trystane was asleep on the couch, his body sprawled across the cushions, tucked into a pale blue blanket. A pang flittered through him at the sight, Trys had always been prone to falling asleep whilst watching television at night and whilst it had been easy for either Alison or him to carry the boy to bed when he was younger, he was now eleven. Alison just wasn't strong enough – physically – to carry him up to his room these days. (They had both agreed that levitating the boys to bed just wasn't practical and was potentially harmful.)

It had been his job to carry his sons to their beds on the nights when they fell asleep in front of the television, a job he had been neglecting in favour of his role as Director of the Order. It was an ironic situation he was in, he thought morosely, he had abandoned his Quidditch career and joined the MLE to have more time for his family and just look at where he was now. He didn't even know what kind of core Trys' new wand possessed, let alone what was going on in Daniel's muggle school.

It was a discomforting thought, one that only fully struck him as he stood there staring at his sleeping son. He had been putting every shred of his energy into the hunt for The Dark Lady, his mother's killer, and into the protection of the magical world that he had been unknowingly failing his family.

A strange fear filled him as he stood there and for the briefest of moments he wondered if he was becoming like his father.

_No, I don't hit my children or my wife._

"But I've been neglecting them," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat as he admitted his shortfalls to himself. What was neglect then, if not another form of abuse? James shook his head because whatever happened, he refused to become like Harry. He refused to hurt his family anymore than he already had.

He couldn't keep coming home at this late hour of the night, catching only a few hours of sleep and then waking before Alison had even had the chance to know he was there. His sons were growing, Trys would be starting Hogwarts in a few weeks . . . he needed to be there for them. They came first . . . not his vendetta to stop the Cultists.

Determined to do better, James strode towards the couch and scooped Trystane into his arms, cradling the boy's head against his arm before making his way up the stairs. He walked slowly, so as not to wake his son, gently depositing him into his bed and bending over to tuck the blankets around him.

"Sweet dreams, Trys," he whispered before turning and making for the door. He was almost there when he heard a voice, heavy from sleep.

"Dad?" it hurt that there was so much surprise in his son's voice. Had he truly been preoccupied for so long that a simple gesture as this – one that had once been commonplace in their home – was such a cause for shock?

"Yes, Trys?"

"Nothing," mumbled his son, shifting slightly to get comfortable, "Just wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming."

That stung worst of all.

A half hour later, after brushing his teeth and showering, he padded towards his bed and slipped beneath the covers. His eyelids were heavy, slipping shut even as he loped an arm around Alison, a faint smile on his lips as he felt her cuddle against him in her sleep.

As he was overtaken by his dreams, he promised himself to be there when she woke up.

(*)(*)(*)

"Leo . . ." she whispered her throat running dry as he stood before her, tall and lithe. His hair stood on end, dishevelled as his father's had been, platinum blond with a nervous look on his face. She drank in his appearance as he walked towards her, starting as she caught sight of his eyes, twin pools of sapphire, bright and so unlike the emerald he would have been born with.

"Your eyes," she murmured as he came up beside her, sinking into the nearby chair and looking tentatively at her reclined silhouette.

"A side effect of being resurrected," he chanced a smile, and her heart melted because his smile was so filled with life and laughter. Her lips curved upwards in reply, a soft smile as she lifted herself of her pillows and engulfed him in her arms.

He froze as she hugged him, before sliding his arms around her and holding her so tightly that it hurt. It was a good hurt though; it reminded her that this – that he – was real. That she was finally getting the opportunity to hug her son. Tears brimmed in her eyes, tears of happiness and joy spilling onto his shoulder, such a strange change for one who had wept in grief for a decade.

"I love you, Leo," she managed, her voice cracking as she said his name and she felt a creeping wetness on her blouse, his tears falling freely as he held her tighter, so tight that it became difficult to breathe.

"I love you too, mum," he whispered and that was it for her. Her tears fell like rain, soaking through his shirt as she delighted in being able to hear him, to touch him, to feel him.

There was no telling how long they sat like that, both crying as for the first time in both their lives, mother and son embraced, forgetting that for so very long they both had been dead in different senses. His death had been literal, her figurative, and yet both held the same instance. For little over a decade now they had both been devoid of life but for the first time in what seemed like forever, grief seemed to lose its grip on her heart.

"How old are you?" she finally asked when they broke apart, elation being replaced by curiosity as she sought to learn about the son she had never known.

"Sixteen," he babbled, "Or you could say that I'm ten because I should have been born ten years ago. Or you could say that I'm not yet a year old because I died before I was born. But physically I'm sixteen, unless you'd rather have me at a different age. It's quite fluid really. Because I was never born, Uncle Hugo is still trying to sort out my paperwork so my age hasn't been legally defined yet."

"Sixteen is fine," she smiled at him, stopping his rambling when he drew breath, "Can you tell me about yourself?"

"Well, there's not much to tell. I'm sixteen but we've already covered that and I'll be starting Hogwarts this year. Aunt Rose is putting me in with the fifth years though because it would be really embarrassing to start as a first year even though I can't use a wand. But that's okay because Orion is starting his fourth year and should be able to help–"

"You can't use a wand?" she interrupted, frowning in confusion at his words. Where the paper-pushing dimwits at the Ministry forbidding _her son_ a wand because of his unusual circumstances? She wouldn't be surprised if they were and she could feel a strange emotion welling within her. It took her a moment to put a label on it; she hadn't felt anything but anguish and pain for so long that this fiery emotion had become foreign to her. Then it clicked.

Anger . . .

"They don't work for me," he shrugged, "We're not sure why because I can do magic. I just can't hold a wand without it shattering in my grasp," he explained when her frown deepened.

"Uncle Xavier thinks it might be because I used to be dead and wands are designed for the living but Uncle Scorpius thinks it may be because I'm a special kind of wizard. He said that my brand of magic can't work with a wand in the same way that a house-elf can apparate in Hogwarts."

"You're special," nodded Cass, finally grasping what was the problem. It was not that he was being refused a wand; it was that he couldn't use one.

"Can you show me your magic then?"

He looked nervous for a minute before getting to his feet and taking a few steps away from her, closing his eyes as a look on intense concentration settled over his face. Cassiopeia stared at him, unsure of what he was doing when she felt the air around her saturate itself with static energy, the hairs on her arms lifting. She was pretty sure, based on the way that his hair began to rise around him, that hers was doing the same.

Suddenly, a blast of white lightning flew out from his hands, striking a wall and bouncing off it without leaving a mark. The lightning arced around the room, dancing from wall to wall and Cassiopeia laughed as more jets of energy flew from his palms, till the entire room was filled with flowing bands of electric white light.

Leo stumbled and the lights flickered out, his face pale as he staggered back to his seat, taking deep breaths as if to steady himself.

"It takes a lot out of me," he explained as she looked at him in concern, fighting down the urge to leap from her bed and mollycoddle him, to make sure he was okay.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I . . . I wanted to show off a little," he said nervously, "I wanted to give you a reason to be proud of me."

She reached up and took his hand, biting back a yelp as a static shock zapped her fingertips before looking straight into his bright blue eyes and then she spoke:

"I'm your mother. I don't reason to be proud."

(*)(*)(*)

_**A/N: Thoughts about the Chapter? Lovers of Dramione, please be sure to check out my new Dramione One-Shot, "Broken Dreams"**_


	4. Chapter 3

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter Three**

**Vigilante**

Alison smiled as she remembered that morning, still feeling his soft butterfly kisses across her shoulder as she sat at her desk. She remembered her surprise at waking to his arm around her waist, to feel his breath against her neck. It was an echo of a time long since passed, of days when they would just laze together and be happy in their little bubble.

He had apologized for his absence and she had realized something as the whispered _I'm sorry_ had left his lips. There was no reason for his apology – he had lost his mother and coped with it the best way he could, the same way in which he had coped with the loss of his brother, by throwing himself into his work in the hopes that he could right the wrongs that had taken them from the world. Despite being aloof from his family the fact remained that he had always come home, even if just to sleep beside her for a few hours, the end all result was that he had returned to her.

She knew, at the very depths of her being, that no matter how bad times became, James would always come home to her and her boys.

Shaking her head fondly at the memories of the way his body had writhed against hers that morning, how they had found rekindled the spark of their romance by making love for the first time in months. It had been a close call as they had nearly been caught by the boys, hungry little Potters barging into their room mere seconds after their parents had spent themselves and demanding their breakfast.

Alison didn't think she could stop smiling that day, the morning had been that family moment they had been missing for so long, James and her both naked and flustered beneath the sheets with their two clueless sons standing at the foot of the bed and complaining about breakfast being delayed. Trys, she thought, had gotten an inkling at what he had walked in on, judging by his reddened cheeks and the way he kept tugging an indignant Daniel towards the door.

James had laughed when they had gone and it had set her heart afire to hear him so amused, because their home had been so devoid of his laughter for so very long.

The boys were both lost in their games, trying to murder each other on the new gaming console Malfoy Holdings had developed. It amused her to know end how they would spend hours controlling fictional characters and boasting of digitised magical spells when they were in fact wizards who possessed real magic.

Turning back to her work, she groaned at the thought of how much more time she would have to devote to this particular assignment. Since leaving Hogwarts, she had flourished as a writer, working first for the Daily Prophet and then taking a short contract with Witch Weekly before branching out on her own to write original novels – of which the Wizarding World sorely lacked – and compile textbooks. Currently, she was under a contract with Hogwarts to create a textbook for Herbology that catered to the new syllabus and with the new term starting in just three weeks, she was fast approaching her deadline.

Thankfully for Alison, her father had been a prodigy at Herbology and had left her most of his notebooks upon being sentenced to Azkaban for crimes against wizardkind. It still stung at her, that her father the war-hero had become so overcome by his prejudices that he had taken to torturing his Slytherin students. In the past, she would have defended his name but not now, she had seen the damage her father, alongside so many other bigoted individuals, had wrought upon her late brother-in-law and the world at large.

Some may call her callous for no longer giving a damn about her own father but she was a mother herself now, and should Trys or Danny be sorted into a Slytherin, she would not want them to be victimised for it. Thankfully though, times had changed since her own schooldays and Hogwarts was a much brighter place.

The fireplace in her office roared to life and she spun in her office chair, frowning at the sight of her sister-in-law, coming in looking haggard, veela beauty marred with lines of worry.

"Victoire," Alison said by way of greeting, glancing at the clock and wondering why the older woman wasn't at work. As far as she knew, St. Mungo's was not in the habit of allowing their healers time-off during the day, especially now that they were severely understaffed following the Cultist attacks.

"Is James home?" Victoire's voice cracked, tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes as she shook on her feet, unsteady, her lower lip trembling with emotion.

Alison was on her feet in an instant, hurrying forward to help steady the older woman who looked like to faint at any moment. Alarm bells sounded in her head, she had never seen Victoire look so careworn in her life. Her sister-in-law had always carried herself with a sense of strength and poise, even when Remy had gone missing, when Teddy had been evacuating Hogwarts during Albus' madness. She had never before given way to her anguish and frustration but now . . . she looked as though the weight of the world had come crashing down upon her.

"It's Remy," she whispered, letting herself be steered towards the kitchen for a cup of hot tea, "He's gone."

"Where?" Alison paused at they got to the stairs, concern for her nephew beginning to well in her gut.

"I don't know, I went to his apartment this morning and found this on his bedside table."

She handed Alison a well worn piece of parchment, her hands shaking violently all the while. Alison unrolled the scroll, noting the tear marks staining it, her heart sinking as she read the spidery handwriting.

_Mum_

_I can't sit around and do nothing anymore. I can't let the Cultists get away with what they did to Demitria . . . what they did to me. I have to do this. Please don't try and follow me, this is something that I have to do alone. _

_Love_

_Remy_

"I'll send James a patronus," muttered Alison, feeling a piece of herself begin to crumble as the words sank in. Her wand slashed the air, her she-bear bursting from the tip and rumbling out through the door before she turned and began to guide Victoire down the stairs.

"James found him before," she said reassuringly, "He'll find him again."

"Alison," whispered Victoire, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, "I can't lose him. I can't lose my baby boy."

(*)(*)(*)

The dingy motel room stunk of stale alcohol and vomit, the wallpaper peeling to lie shredded across the stained carpet. The bed . . . he didn't want to think about what unsavoury acts had taken place on that bed and having brushed the sheets with his fingers upon first entering the room and finding them sticky and crusted, he had resolved to sleep in the chair beside the grimy window that night.

The motel he had booked in did offer one perk though and that was its seclusion from the rest of the world. Nobody would think to look for him here and therefore, his anonymity was to be guaranteed. It was imperative that he not be found by the aurors who stand in the way of his justice, or by his family who would try and bring him home.

It hurt him that he had left them behind. His sister, about to begin her fifth year at Hogwarts, his mother and father, both lost in how to deal with him these days. He loved them and it was painful to set their needs aside but it was more painful for him to have remained in his apartment, where every speck of dust reminded him of _her._

He could still see her grinning at him from the kitchen counter, sipping on her morning coffee and forgetting that she had food on the stove. He could still remember her asleep in his arms, dressed in one of his T-shirts and snug under his blankets. The little trinkets screamed her absence, the hunting knives mounted above their mantel, the keys hanging behind the door, they all mocked him that she was no longer here with him.

He would watch her smile at him from the photos, and he would smile back at the frames mounted on the walls, forgetting for a moment that the pictures of her smile was all he would get these days.

His father had tried to get him to clean up her stuff; to pack it all away till he was stronger but it was to no avail. He was already so damaged that he feared he would break, that he would shatter at a fundamental level if he lost sight of those tangible memories of Demitria Pierce.

Tossing his bag onto the floor, he reached in to draw his weapon, that which he had obtained from the auror's armoury.

Goblin forged steel glinted in the dull room, the ornately forged bow lighter than a feather in his hands. The steel had been melded with titanium, further strengthening it, the arcs ending in two bladed points to allow for melee combat as well as ranged assaults. The bowstring was enchanted to never break and this bow, the legendary _Vidofnir_ was one of the few relics that predated the existence of Merlin and Morgana themselves.

When the Ministry had begun collecting Goblin made weaponry to be better outfitted in the growing war against the Shadows, the Pierce family had donated their most prized family heirloom in the name of their late daughter.

It seemed only fitting to Remy that he avenge Demitria with her own weapon.

A sharp knock against the door drew his attention. At once, he dropped the bow onto the filthy mattress and drew his wand. Shoulders tensed he opened the door, just an inch and was met with an icy blue glare. For a minute he froze, seeing the girl he loved in those eyes before the ice in them broke the illusion.

"May I come in, or will we be talking through the door like common muggles?" snapped Opalneria Pierce, her voice hard as Remy opened the door fully, stepping aside so that she could walk in. The middle aged woman screwed up her nose in disgust as she took in the room, though Remy could not help but notice that her face was more lined than he had ever seen it, her once lustrous hair now shot through with streaks of grey.

"How did you find me?" he asked, slipping his wand back into the waistband of his jeans and turning to gaze upon the woman, who for a quirk of fate, would have been his mother-in-law.

"It wasn't difficult," she replied, "You wear my daughter's ring . . . I gave each of my children a ring just like that, enchanted so that I could always find them."

Absently, Remy's fingers closed around the cool silver band he wore on a chain around his neck, the metal seeming to warm in his touch. When they had first infiltrated the Cult of Shadows, Demitria had left it behind in their apartment for safekeeping. When Remy had left his apartment to avenge her, the ring had been the only thing he had been unable to let go off.

He cursed his sentimentality.

"What do you want then?" sighed Remy, "To take me in?"

"Merlin forbid, boy," barked Opalneria, "You defiled my daughter and now she is dead. I want what every mother who has lost a child wants. I want revenge."

Her words were like a cruciatus curse upon his heart, twisting the knife of Demi's passing deeper into his gut. He recoiled as if struck, his face twisting into an expression of utmost hate.

"I loved her!" he yelled, his eyes flashing gold as his lupine heritage came to the forefront of his being, forced to the surface by his rage and pain.

"You killed her," said Opalneria coldly, "and when this Dark Lady is dead, mark my words I will see that you join her in the afterlife."

"So you're here to kill me?" Remy drew his wand, the tip sparking green as he watched her through narrowed eyes.

"I am here to help you finish what my daughter started," she replied, "but yes, when every Cultist lies dead and every Shadow has been cast back to where they belong, I will kill you."

"I no longer fear dying," said Remy, nodding at her as he agreed to her terms, "I fear having to live without her any longer than I have too."

(*)(*)(*)

Cassiopeia favoured her son with a fond smile as he helped her through the fireplace, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her by an energetic projectile slamming into her midriff. Looking down, her face split into a broad grin as she hugged her daughter as tightly as she could, beaming at the brightness in those wide, emerald eyes.

For the first time in a long time, those eyes didn't dredge up the memories of her late husband. The pain was there, as it would always be, but it no longer hurt as much as it did. Her children were both alive and well and they needed their mother, she could no longer remain a stoic, melancholy individual. Already she feared she may have done her daughter much harm by bringing her up in such a grief stained environment but now she had been given a second chance and this time she would not fail her children.

She was tired of failing the people she loved and she vowed to never be that person again. She had been happy before Albus . . . she was sure that through caring for her children she could find a way to be happy without him. She may not be able to ever love a man as she had him but she was content to spend her days as a widowed mother, and be a person that Leo and Aurora could rely on.

Of course, she had another purpose as well. It was her duty to retrieve her husband's soul from Bellatrix's grasp, she could not allow him to be corrupted by the Dark Lady's perversions. She would have to share her story, the whole truth of how she had brought his soul back from the dead and bound him to her heart, how she had failed to keep Bella from capturing him. It was a harsh story, one that still tore gaping holes through her being when she dwelled on it for too long.

But she was stronger now. She could survive all that life had left to throw at her.

"You've grown so much," she said to her daughter, who grinned toothily with pride up at her.

"Soon I'll be taller than you and Leo," she declared, giggling at Leo's faux affronted expression.

"You wish," he replied, grabbing her when she stuck out his tongue at her and swinging her through the air. She squealed with glee and the sight warmed Cass' heart. She watched as Aurora insisted her brother come upstairs to see her new paintings, rolling her eyes as her eldest child resisted for a moment before giving in to his sister's pout.

Nostalgia overwhelmed as she remembered how close she and Scorpius had been as children, and how he had always given in to her pouts. Big brothers always seemed to become fluffy marshmallows when confronted with their baby sisters.

"It's good to see you smile again."

Cassiopeia turned sharply, she had not realised that her father was in the room yet there he was, leaning back in a black leather couch. His face may be wrinkled with time but she could still see the spark in his eyes and the warmth in his smile that had always comforted her whenever she needed her dad.

"I would have forgotten how, had my children not reminded me," she replied, coming to sit across from him, sighing in relief as she sat, glad to be off her feet. Seven months in a coma had not done her body any wonders and she found that the short trip from her hospital bed to the couch had exhausted her.

"I would have expected you to be at the Manor," she added, her smile fading as his face grew grim.

"The Manor is no longer fit for human habitation," he replied bitterly, "My Aunt Bellatrix, to use the common phrase, did quite a number on it during her attack."

"So you and Hermione moved into a penthouse?" Cassiopeia raised her eyebrow as she took in the opulent rooms which screamed of new money. It was a pleasant space and yet it just did not fit with the name Malfoy. They were, above all else, old money and she could scarce imagine her father in this room, let alone grasp the concept that he lived here.

"You can blame your brother," chuckled Draco, "Scorpius dealt with the real estate agents while I was still in hospital and Hermione took a liking to it. It lacks a certain sense of taste but I do quite enjoy it."

"You haven't changed at all, dad," she shook her head at him, "You'd still do anything just to make her happy."

"I love her," he said simply, "You will be staying here. I've heard from Scorpius that you have gotten the ridiculous notion that you will be buying a house of your own and I do not like it one bit."

"I can't stay here with two children, you and Hermione aren't as young as you used to be," reasoned Cassiopeia, inwardly cussing her eldest brother for ratting her out.

"Cassiopeia Astoria Potter," his voice was stern, "I may be old but I can still out-duel most men half my age, I'm sure I can handle two teenagers."

"Dad . . ."

"Don't make me call your mother."

She closed her eyes for a minute before nodding in agreement, reasoning that perhaps it would be best for her to live with Draco and Hermione. Her father was ill, and not as young as he once was, it would be better for her to be close by should he need her help. A thought struck her as she realised that it was midday, shouldn't her father be at the Ministry?

"Why are you home anyway?" she asked, somewhat bluntly, still a little peeved at him for insisting she live with him and her stepmother.

"Do you think Hermione, Rose or Astoria would let me stay on as Minister after my heart attack?" he smiled wanly at her, his fingers curling around the handle of his cane as he made to rise from his seat.

"Then who's the Minister of Magic?" she asked in confusion.

"I am," said Hugo Malfoy, striding down the stairs with his four year old daughter asleep in his arms, "It's good to have you back, sis."

(*)(*)(*)

_**A/N: Reviews are always appreciated. **_

_**A special shout-out to NovaArbella, who wrote me a fabulous birthday gift!fic set in the Lord of Shadows universe. For readers of this series, I urge you to check out her one-shot, "Fun and Games" as it's awesome and features two of my favourite Call Me Home OC's.**_

_**A quick word: As with The Good Son and Call Me Home, The Ghost Prince will focus on one major relationship in addition to Dramione and in this case it is James/Alison, as can be seen in the story tags. I feel that this is only fitting considering that TGS focused on Albus/Cassiopeia and CMH focused on Scorpius/Lily. These two relationships will have their moments in this story but Scorpius and Lily are not main characters in The Ghost Prince. **_


	5. Chapter 4

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter Four**

**Love in a Time of Shadows**

The scarlet Hogwarts Express slowly pulled out of the station, the low scream of its siren ebbing away as the parents waved their farewells, still smiling at children they could no longer see. The thick smoke that had clouded the platform that morning had already begun to dissipate, silhouettes emerging in the growing clarity and starting as the noticed people they hadn't been aware were there in the first place.

Katherine Avery smiled at her husband, her hand clasped with his as their youngest son stopped to chat with one of his playmates. They hadn't had much time to meet with their family and friends earlier that morning as they had simply been much too busy getting Matthew ready for his first trip to Hogwarts. He would be a second year due to being home-schooled by his father during Katherine's infiltration of the Cult of Shadows.

Still, both parents couldn't help but beam as they remembered their own first trip to Hogwarts, the Black Lake and the Great Hall, the Ghosts and the Sorting all playing vividly through their minds.

"I swear that the first years get tinier each year," chuckled Scorpius, coming up beside them with an arm slung across Lily's shoulders. Katherine couldn't help but feel a little but sorry for the younger woman. Lily had been forced to postpone her wedding for over a year now due to the Cultist attacks and the subsequent repercussions on her family. Still, the former Ghost Division agent hoped that they would take advantage of the relatively peaceful respite their world had been given to finally tie the knot.

"I don't know, Scor," laughed Xavier, "You were pretty much a midget in our first year."

"You were pretty much a stick insect," shot back Scorpius, causing both women to roll their eyes, "Come to think of it; you're still as thin as a rake."

"Scorpius," smirked Kat, coming to her husband's defence, "I remember the 'stick insect' managing to get a girl in bed with him long before you could."

Scorpius pretended to look affronted, Lily slipping a hand across her mouth to stifle her laughter. Katherine was just about to throw in another jibe when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and a relatively deep voice sounded in her ear.

"Having a reunion without me?" grinned Delphin, looking oddly formal in his muggle suit. She raised her eyebrows at his attire, returning the grin as Xavier and Scorpius both clapped their former dorm-mate on the back. A faint pang went through her heart as she watched the three men launch into their usual Quidditch talk. There had been four boys in her year; one who have become her husband and three had been akin to her brothers.

She wondered if she was the only one there who could see that there was something missing, a gaping hole in their circle that time could never erase. Then she looked up and noticed Cassiopeia leaving the platform on her own. Kat had forgotten that this would also be Leo and Aurora's first trip to Hogwarts, Leo as a fifth year and Aurora as a first.

She was not the only one who saw the missing piece of their puzzle, and her heart went out to her cousin who had watched her world trickle through her fingers like sands through an hourglass.

"I miss him too, you know," said Lily, coming to stand beside her as she watched the three men laugh at a joke that neither of them heard.

"We all do," sighed Kat, because there really wasn't a day that went by that she didn't glance at the Mark of the Outcast upon her wrist and think off the man who had put it there, the man who had been her brother in all but blood. Lily smiled at her, a sad smile, before walking forward and brushing her fingertips across her fiancé's arm. Scorpius looked at her and nodded, taking his leave of his friends and the couple apparated away with a low crack.

"Can we get ice-cream now, mum?" asked Riley, looking up at her with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

She nodded at him, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as she called out to Xavier. Shaking hands briefly with Scorpius he turned and took her hand, the trio quickly enveloped in the suffocating darkness of apparition.

(*)(*)(*)

"When you said you wanted to take advantage of the two of us being alone, I didn't mean you meant the entire day," gasped Lily, snuggling into her fiancé's side as he wrapped a muscled arm around her.

"I wanted to enjoy not having to use a silencing charm for once," grinned Scorpius, stretching languidly across the bed. He stifled a groan as he felt her hook her leg around his, her thigh pressing against him _right there, _in that one place that was ultra-sensitive following their many hours of alone time.

She rolled her eyes at him, content to simply lie in his arms and inhale his scent as the evening sun burned through the window. It had been difficult for them to find alone time during the summer with Orion, Leo and Aurora all in their house and whilst silencing charms at night had sufficed, it just wasn't in their nature to have to hide their affections for each other.

Wizarding parents must all have this problem, noted Lily, seeing as their children spent so many months away from home.

"Speaking of the kids," sighed Lily, hating to have to bring up such an awkward topic but knowing it had to be addressed, "Did you give Leo and Ryan the talk?"

"I tried," he chuckled, "but I think Leo was too horrified to even pay much attention."

"The poor boy," Lily shook her head against his chest, "I feel so bad for him – he's really lost being alive." She had taken to her resurrected nephew quite quickly after he had been brought back and was for the most part, quite worried about sending him to Hogwarts this year when he was still so lost about most concepts that everyone else took for granted.

"He'll be fine and he'll have Ryan to watch out for him," pointed out Scorpius.

"Ryan is too much like his father for his mother's comfort," she protested, knowing full well that her son was a Malfoy through and through. She shuddered at the thought that he may soon be using silencing charms in the same manner as his parents had. Scorpius had been a right man-whore during his Hogwarts days, only settling down when she had given him a chance.

She hoped that she had managed to raise her son to be a gentleman and not a barbarian like his father had been.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he pouted, flashing her with a pair of his patented puppy dog eyes. Not that they worked on her. She had raised a boy who had tried using them on her whenever he didn't get his way after all, and had developed an immunity to the Malfoy puppy dog eyes and their trademark smirks and pouts.

"Never mind," she stuck out her tongue at him, suddenly giggling when he leaned in and kissed her, allowing her tongue to slip into his mouth for a change. Her laughter vibrated through his cheeks as their kiss grew more and more heated, the air growing thick with wanton moans as their lovemaking began once again.

(*)(*)(*)

The foul stench of rotting food filled her nostrils as walked through the street, ignoring the jeers of the street vendors. The gutters were brimming with raw sewage and it was difficult to comprehend that this alley lay but a stone's throw away from the pristine cobblestones of Diagon Alley.

Her velvet cloak fluttered around her as she moved, the dark hood obscuring her delicate features from sight. She couldn't be seen here, not in this place, it would not bode well for an Outcast to be seen in Knockturn Alley.

She was an Outcast only in name and mark though, her heart having long since been captivated by a much darker organisation.

The twisting labyrinth of dingy streets went on and on yet she navigated them with ease, taking care to avoid the grasping fingernails of the street urchins who littered the streets. She sighed in relief as she finally reached her destination, a musty looking store with a battered sign atop the door.

_Borgin and Burkes._

The bell tinkled as she entered and for a moment she fought the urge to giggle. The melodious sound seemed so out of place within this desecrated store, amidst the dark artefacts and heirlooms that cluttered the dirty shelves.

A man leaned against the counter, his skinny frame and haggard visage showing traces of a handsomeness that had long since been lost in the Black Cells of Azkaban. It was a foul place – she knew as much – but then again, this man should have never taken up arms against her master in the first place.

"Good morning, ma'am," he muttered, his Irish accent barely discernable throughout the stain of time.

"Seth Finnegan," she smirked, "Forgotten me already?" In a single easy motion she drew back her hood, her smirk deepening as a frown crossed his face. It wasn't that she blamed him for forgetting her; they had after all only slept together once when they were both in Hogwarts all those years ago.

"Elena," he rolled his eyes as she started, surprised that he had remembered her despite his long years in Azkaban. It was especially poignant considering he had been a Loyalist who had viewed all Slytherins as scum. His thoughts on her house hadn't stopped him from tumbling into bed with her, but it had stopped him from bragging about it as he was prone to doing back in their schooling days.

"How may I help you?" he drawled in a bored tone of voice, eyes falling back to the ledger he had been scrawling in.

"I require an artefact that my father left here for safekeeping during the Second War," she replied, coming to stand against the counter and making sure he was looking into her eyes. It wasn't hard for her to detect the resentment and frustration he carried within himself, smouldering in his dull eyes like the embers of a great blaze waiting to take fire.

"Mr. Burke turned over all Death Eater paraphernalia to the Ministry," he replied, his gaze boring into her.

"He wouldn't have gotten rid of this one though," she said, realising that a little extra effort with be required to obtain what she needed for her mistress's plan. In a fluid movement that she had made half a hundred times in her youth, she loosened her cloak and ensured that the topmost buttons of her blouse were undone. A little cleavage never hurt when dealing with a man.

Seth scrutinized her for a few minutes before slipping off into the back room of the store, emerging moments later with a mildew laden tomb. Blowing on it gently to clear some of the grime, he peeled it open.

"If we still have what you need, then it will be in this book," he said absently, trailing a long finger down the page before finally pausing and looking at her with widened eyes.

"A master key to the Ministry," he stammered. She nodded once, masking a grin as he shuddered and walked out from behind the counter, leading her to a bare wall. Glancing both ways to make sure that the store was deserted save for the two of them, he flicked his wand once to seal the door before twisting the torch bracket on the wall.

Elena didn't have to work at the store to know that if she had tried to enter the room, she would have been cursed to oblivion. The wince that tore through Seth was all that it took to confirm her suspicions on the cursed entrance before she followed him into a pitch black chamber.

A second wand flick from him lit the torches.

Within minutes he was digging through an old chest, eventually rising and pressing a rusty key into her palm. Worriedly, he looked this way and that, as if he knew that he was doing something that would cause the downfall of the world as he knew it. But he couldn't know – not really.

"You never received this from this store," he urged.

"Received what?" she asked innocently; casually brushing against his arm as she walked towards the concealed door to leave the antechamber. Now it was time for phase two of her plan but she had a feeling that this challenge would prove much easier than retrieving the key.

"I will need one other thing," she said, looking over her shoulder as her cloak slid of her back, baring her risqué attire. This was not a task she relished but it was once again a necessity for the Dark Lady's plan to work. They needed a Cultist within Borgin and Burkes, and who better was there than the disgraced son of Seamus Finnegan, who hated the Potters with everything bone in his body.

"That is?" leered Seth, eagerly coming towards her. The gleam in his eye's told her that once again, she had timed her actions perfectly and that she now had him, hook, line and sinker. She was a desirable witch and of course, he was but a man who looked as though he hadn't felt a women's touch in years.

"How would you like the chance to get even with the Potters for throwing you in Azkaban?"

He hesitated, looking unsure of himself, but then she sensually unbuttoned the remainder of her blouse, allowing her breasts to spill out of her tiny bra.

He pounced on her like the lion he had once been, and Elena cried out in ecstasy as he took her against the wall.

She had him. He was after all, just another man who made decisions with the wrong head.

(*)(*)(*)

"Xavier," she cried out, her nails clawing into his back as he collapsed back onto the bed, spent and breathing raggedly against her shoulder. She sighed in contentment as she fell over him, pecking him on his nose as she felt his slender arms wrap around her waist.

"I missed this," she smiled, her nose brushing against his as she lay over him. It tickled.

"I love you," he replied simply, punctuating each word with a kiss.

Cassiopeia and Hermione had Riley with them, both women insisting they take the children and give the parents some time to themselves. Kat had been grateful for the gesture and had readily agreed to let her youngest spend the night there. She had smirked when she had seen that not only was Riley going to be there, but that the twins and Alexandria were also staying with their grandparents for the night.

Obviously, she and Xav weren't the only couple that needed quality time together after the hellish few months that had just passed them by. She doubted that her friends had needed this as much as she had though. Since her incarceration with the Cultists, she hadn't been intimate with Xavier due to fragile mindset. Usually, she would be loathe to refer to herself as fragile and delicate but the Cultists had broken her and for the longest time, the nightmares and terrors had plagued her.

It was only through Xavier that she had managed to be fixed. When she lay in his arms, she felt safe and secure in a way that she hadn't felt when at the hospital recovering.

Her husband was her rock and he was all that had kept her sane through her recovery period. Without Xav, she knew that she may well be dead.

"I love you too," she whispered, nipping at his lip as she felt sleep begin to creep over her. Closing her eyes and settling her head upon her husband's chest, just below his chin, she allowed herself to drift to sleep.

When she woke screaming, he pressed a kiss to her brow and soothed her back to sleep, whispering that she was safe and that nobody could ever hurt her again. Xavier stroked her back as she cried into his shoulder. He left to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea at two in the morning so that she could relax and not once did he complain.

"What did I do to deserve you?" she asked him as she lay awake in his drowsy embrace.

"You loved me," he replied, pressing his lips to the back of her neck as she fell asleep a second time.

This time, she did not wake till well past dawn. The mid-morning sun streaming through the window, she showed Xavier just how much she loved and appreciated him for being there for her.

(*)(*)(*)

Their stares went ignored, just as they always did for his eyes were narrowed straight ahead as he leaned upon his snake-head cane. A slew of muffled whispers buzzed through the atrium; dozens of Ministry staff craning their necks to try and catch a glimpse of the Malfoy patriarch. He supposed he only had himself to blame on the matter as since his crippling heart attack, he had rarely been seen in public.

Draco nodded imperceptibly as he caught the eye of his ex-wife, Astoria. Receiving a grim nod in response, he continued onwards, brushing by the red robes that proclaimed her seat upon the Wizengamot. While their divorce had been amicable, recent Cultist activities had been driving a wedge between their friendship, putting a strain on their otherwise cordial relationship. Tensions between them had only been heightened when Cassiopeia had been put into a coma; when their niece, Kat, had been imprisoned and tortured and of course, when their grandson, Orion, had been crucioed during the Cultist assault on Hogsmeade.

He could understand her ire. As a mother, it was her prerogative to care for the wellbeing of her children and in this instance, her hands were tied. Naturally she would then take out her frustrations on Draco, citing that it was his duty as Minister to ensure their safety. It was a sore point, one that they both knew but didn't want to accept, that their children had cubs of their own now, and would fight to defend them at the cost of their own welfare.

He found it ironic that the struggles that drove Astoria and himself apart only served to bring Hermione and himself together. Indeed, his relationship with his wife was stronger now than it had ever been as they strove to keep the Cultist threat at bay. Since their initial assaults earlier that year, they had been silent, but he knew that they were planning something, something that could very well destroy them all.

Stepping out of the elevator, he frowned at the unnatural silence of the floor. Where usually there would be a bustle of activity, the floor was now deserted. Where were the Ministry officials that usually inhabited this floor – where were his son's advisors and attaches?

On his guard, he continued on, his eyes darting warily around the darkened hallways. The cane tapped against the cool floors and Draco became acutely aware that he was being watched. Walking on as though everything was normal so as not to alert the unseen watcher, he finally came to his son's office and without waiting to knock, he entered the room and slid the door shut behind him.

In the months that his youngest had been Minister, Hugo had changed little of the office and to Draco; it looked as though he had never retired in the first place. The only differences were minute, a few photos in places where the walls had once been bare and a decanter of firewhiskey upon the mantle. Frowning at Hugo's absence, he moved towards the desk to see if his son had left any notes as to why the entire floor had been abandoned.

What he saw chilled him to the bone.

Hugo was sprawled across the floor behind his desk, and for a moment, Draco's heart constricted as he thought that his son must be dead. But the rhythmic rise and fall of the younger Malfoy's chest said otherwise. Kneeling beside his son, Draco slid two fingers against his throat to check for a pulse and sighed with relief when he felt one, faint but still there. Shards of glass littered the floor around Hugo's left hand and Draco picked up one, bringing it to his nose and grimacing at the tell-tale scent of _Dreamless Sleep, _mingled with pumpkin juice.

He would bet his life that he would find traces of this potion in the rooms of every official on this floor of the Ministry.

The door clicked open behind him and he rose to his feet, gasping slightly as the world swam around him. Francesca had warned him to avoid strenuous activity, both mental and physical, but then again he had not planned to walk into this.

The Wizard standing in the doorway was masked and shrouded in dark robes. The former Minister's eyes darted to the steel muggle wand that the man clasped in left hand, a long wand held in his right. Draco bit his lip as he realised what the steel weapon was – a gun – he had seen them often on the television that Hermione had introduced him too.

"You came," chuckled the wizard, dark eyes glinting as Draco coughed, leaning heavily on his cane.

"One would think you were expecting me?" replied Draco calmly, his free hand closing upon the snake head of his walking stick, hiding the subtle smirk that threatened to play across his lips as he feigned excessive weakness.

Yes, he was frailer than he had ever been in the past but news of his medical condition had been greatly exaggerated by the media. He was counting on this serving him well now.

"The great Draco Malfoy," the man went on as if he had not heard Draco, "Killed in the heart of the Ministry itself. Mistress Bella shall be most pleased to be rid of you."

"A Cultist," Draco faux swayed on his cane, acting though his legs were like to give way at any moment, "One of my mad aunt's pets no less."

"Now, now, there's no need to be nasty because you think you're not going to get hurt," cackled the Cultist, "Your wife's wards can keep out magic but this . . ." he gestured at the gun, "can kill you all the more painfully."

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it," sighed Draco, this time faking a yawn, "I confess that death would certainly be preferable to listening to your demented ramblings."

"You have no idea what Mistress Bella has in store for you, blood-traitor," declared the man, once again glossing over Draco's snark, "Once she regains her body she will raise you in the same manner that she raised The Lord of Shadows and use your pureblood seed to restore the House of Black."

"You are raving," he snorted in response. His mind whirred as it took in the new information. It had been a long time since news of Albus had reached their ears and he made sure to store it away safely for later pondering. The one thing he refused to consider was Bellatrix's desire to use him – a resurrected version of him, whatever that entailed – to recreate the House of Black.

The thought alone caused bile to well in his throat.

Hugo began to stir and the Cultist raised the gun, "It seems our time together is at an end, it would not do for your son to awaken whilst I am still here," he said.

A finger moved to squeeze the trigger and in that moment Draco responded, drawing his wand from the cane and slashing it through the air, roaring out the words of his spell.

"Expulso."

The Cultist's eyes widened for the fraction of a second before the curse caught him in the midriff and slammed it against the wall, his head cracking the stone. He slumped to the ground, unconscious as Draco tottered over and kicked away his wand and gun.

"You should know, my good man, that we Malfoy's are like fine wine. We only get more powerful with age."

(*)(*)(*)

_**A/N: Thoughts?**_


	6. Chapter 5

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter Five**

**Sorting**

Leo groaned as he collapsed into his seat, glaring at Orion who shrugged sheepishly as he settled down across from him. It was his first trip to Hogwarts, and whilst he was quite eager for the new experiences, he found getting dragged through the length of the train and being introduced to everyone he bumped into to be a tad bit much. His cousin wasn't helping matters by insisting that they sit together – apparently, it was fine for Aurora, Trystane and Matthew to go off on their own – because he needed a babysitter.

It grated on his nerves, just a little, that nobody trusted him to do anything himself. They treated him as though he was fragile and breakable when, in his opinion, which was the furthest thing from the truth. He had died. He had seen the Otherworld. He had fought Shadows, guarded his mother and sister for a decade and he was probably one of the strongest people around.

He just wished that they could see it too.

"I hate you," he muttered, as Orion caught the eye of a passing student and beckoned for them to come in.

"Nope," Orion grinned as the compartment door slid open, "You love me and you know it." Leo rolled his eyes at his cousin before looking up at the visitor, frowning slightly at the trio that were seating themselves as if they owned the compartment. He cleared his awkwardly, hoping that Orion would for once take a hint and make the introductions in a normal manner.

He didn't think he would be able to bear the shame if another person began calling him _Zombie Boy. _It was bad enough that the story of his resurrection had been splashed across every tabloid and magazine in the United Kingdom by the overzealous media – at least Louis had been able to do some damage control in that department, pulling strings to keep the dreaded paparazzi from camping outside his home.

"I think introductions are in order, this is my cousin Leo – the one who died and came back," began Orion in an excited manner, and something told Leo that these strangers – who were looking at him funny – were possibly his cousin's friends. That thought did little to steady his nerves because if they were anything like Orion, Leo was certain he would have to branch out and meet new people who were somewhat normal. Not that he had anything against abnormality, him being something of a freak himself, but it did grow a bit wearisome over time.

He did groan at the manner in which he had been introduced though. _The one who died and came back_ seemed much worse than _Zombie Boy._

"This is Cecilia Pierce," said Orion, gesturing at a skinny girl with honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her pale violet eyes glimmered as she smiled shyly and waved, quickly extracting a book from her bag and burying her head between its pages.

"Jeremy Wood," he nodded towards an athletic looking boy who stuck out a hand. Leo stared for a moment, lost as to what he was expected to do, before he remembered what Orion had told him blokes do when they greeted each other. Blushing in embarrassment that such a simple motion was so foreign to him, he reached out and shook the other boy's hand.

"And Keira Scamander," he grinned, looping an arm around the shoulder's of a wild looking girl with a dreamy look in her eyes. Looking closely, Leo realised that she looked familiar and then it clicked. His father's cousin Lucy had married Lorcan Scamander whilst the man's twin brother had married a muggleborn witch and had two daughters. He must have seen Keira last week in passing when the Nana Molly had insisted that the entire family – Malfoys included – come to the Burrow to celebrate the return of her great-grandson, Leo.

Honestly, Leo would have preferred they hadn't thrown such an event considering that the mood had been so dour, mostly due to concern for Remy, who had fallen of the grid in search of revenge for his girlfriend's murder.

"By the way, mate," Orion added as Leo exchanged pleasantries with the girl, "She's also my girlfriend."

"Oh," he smiled in understanding, "So you two do the dance with no pants?" Leo bit his lip as Cecilia giggled from behind her book and Jeremy guffawed in mirth, Orion flushing bright red and his girlfriend glared at him.

"What exactly is he talking about, Ryan?" she snapped, and Leo couldn't understand why his cousin cowered in the way that he did. Sure, she looked a little mad, but Orion had been bragging incessantly about what he termed his 'very active sex-life' ever since Uncle Scorpius had sat the pair of them down and given them the _talk_.

"Well, Ryan told me that when you have a girlfriend, you have to do a dance with no pants and this involves shagging," pointed out Leo, the picture of innocence as he failed to interpret his cousin's hasty shushing motions. Beside the three of them, Cecilia and Jeremy were clutching at their sides as they fought not to fall from their seats.

"Pay him no mind, Keira," spluttered Orion, his cheeks burning red, "Leo was just resurrected a few weeks ago – he must be a little confused."

"I am not confused," said Leo indignantly, "you told me that when you're together with a bird, you have to shag a lot."

Keira scrutinized him for a moment before she turned to her boyfriend, cupping his cheek in her hand and letting her manicured nails press into his cheekbones.

"I guess you're going to be a virgin for quite some time, love," she smirked, before turning back to Leo and her other friends, both of who were still laughing hysterically as Orion muttered something about cousins who were more trouble than they were worth.

For the life of him, Leo couldn't realise what he had done that was so wrong.

(*)(*)(*)

"Anything of the trolley, dears?" said the elderly woman, poking her kindly face in through the half opened door. The delicious smells of fresh pumpkin pasties and hot cauldron cakes wafted into their compartment, making her mouth water as she stuffed her hands into her pockets to extricate some coins.

"I'll have a little of everything," declared Matthew, handing the lady a small pile of galleons and grinning as she waved her wand, causing a large pile of treats to float onto his lap. Aurora rolled her eyes at him before handing over her own handful of coins, she didn't have as appetite as voracious as the two boys sharing her compartment and thus she merely paid in sickles. Smiling as the kindly lady handed her a box of cauldron cakes, a handful of chocolate frogs and a bottle of iced pumpkin juice, she was gobsmacked by Trystane ordering a larger confection than Matthew.

"How can you two eat that much?" she gasped as the boys began offloading their laps to keep their bounties from spilling.

"We're hungry," they chirped in unison, causing her to grimace as she caught sight of the half-chewed pumpkin pasties between their teeth.

"I would hate to see you when you're ravenous then," she sighed, opening a chocolate frog and catching it before the little amphibian could hop away. It was the same with all the male relatives and friends – they could eat twice their weight in food and still be starving an hour later.

"Who'd you get?" asked Trys, thankfully after swallowing his food this time.

"Grandma Hermione," she shrugged, tossing the card to the side. Collecting the famous witch and wizard cards that came with the frogs had been one of her favourite pastimes when she was younger but they had lost their savour the day she had collected her first _Harry Potter_ card.

She didn't want anything to do with her grandfather who had been the cause of her father's death.

"I already have seven of her," pointed out Matthew, "I almost have them all, I'm just missing Fred Weasley the first and Severus Snape." Trystane turned towards him; interest burning in his hazel eyes as both boys quickly became lost in the number of cards in their collections.

Aurora had fallen silent, a familiar pang stabbing at her heart at the mention of the name Severus. That had been her father's middle name and despite never knowing him in life she could still remember his Shadow watching and playing with her as she grew up with vivid clarity.

She often wondered if there was something wrong with her, that she had always been able to see Daemons and Shadows even when they chose to conceal themselves from the living. It was a blessing and a curse, although she chose to look at the positives rather than the negatives. Without her gift, she would have never been able to see her brother or father, and they would both be nothing but phantom strangers to her.

"Aurora?" Trystane's voice brought her out from her reverie and she looked up with him, blinking to hide the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Yup?" she replied, trying to seem nonchalant as she bit into a cauldron cake with utmost delicacy, wanting to savour the sweet treat and not devour it like her friends.

"I asked what house you want to be in" Trys said, shaking his head and digging back into his box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans.

"Slytherin," she answered without hesitation, "just like my dad."

The silence that permeated the aftermath of her response was deafening, until Matthew chuckled and reached across to snag Aurora's pumpkin juice, smirking at her protests.

"I guess that we'll be housemates then."

"So you both are going to leave me all alone in Gryffindor, is that what you're saying?" joked Trystane, "Because that's where I'm going, to the house where dwell the brave at heart."

"This from the boy who was scared of thunder until he was seven," giggled Aurora, thinking back about her rare visits to her godfather's home when she was still a little girl. Truth be told, her family maintained that she was still a _little girl_ but she always replied that she was a young lady now, since she was off to Hogwarts for the first time.

That particular response was one of the few things that she could always make her mother smile. She treasured her ability to do that, especially since the radical change in Cassiopeia's behaviour since Leo had been resurrected. There was still an aura of sadness around her mother but these days, her mother was all that any child could hope for.

A small part of her, one that she hated, resented the fact that her mum could be the perfect maternal figure only because Leo had returned and that Cassiopeia had never been that figure for her. She knew that her mother loved her but she found herself always asking the question:

_Was I not a good enough reason for her to be happy?_

Once again she was broken from her thoughts by Trystane, who was squealing and clawing at his tongue as if he were possessed. Matthew, for his part, was rolling around on his seat and emitting peals of laughter that she couldn't quite understand until she saw the discarded box of flavoured beans at her feet.

"What flavour?" she giggled, fighting the urge to erupt into laughter as Trys fixed her with an indignant glare.

"Troll bogey," Matthew roared in delight, clapping the other boy on his back and handing him the half empty bottle of pumpkin juice. As Trys gulped at the beverage, Matthew picked up the box of beans from the floor and offered it to Aurora.

"Bean, Potter?" he grinned.

She accepted with a daring smile and then, with all her strength, flung the box out the window, laughing at the betrayed look in Matthew's eyes as the wind sent one of the beans whizzing back in through the window to strike him on the nose.

(*)(*)(*)

It was twilight when they finally reached Hogsmeade Station, and Leo found himself feeling quite out of place in his plain black robes and tie, uncoloured by the colours of his house. Around him, his new friends – if one used the term loosely, he didn't really know them all that well yet – had already donned their colours.

Cecilia seemed to be the only one, who like him, didn't quite fit in with the rest. Whilst Orion, Jeremy and Keira all had ties of crimson and gold, she stood slightly apart, wearing one of blue and bronze. Still, at the very least, she appeared to be quite at ease amongst the lions.

A heavy clap on his shoulder nearly drove him to his knees as he stood awkwardly on the platform, watching the excited students milling around and complaining of empty bellies. When he turned to confront whoever had attacked him, his eyebrows rose at the sight of the gigantic man standing beside him with a kindly sparkle to his beetle-like eyes.

"Yer Cassie's boy, right?" the giant said, his weather-beaten face lost amidst the thick mane of silver and black. Unsure as to how he should respond, he nodded, gingerly rubbing his sore shoulder and feeling sure that there would be a dark bruise tomorrow.

"Well then, Professor Zabini says ter give yer the choice of comin with the first-yers on the boats or joinin the older students on the carriages," he said gently. Leo stared at the man, wondering if he was joking. Whilst he did want to experience the fabled boat ride across the Black Lake, he didn't want to be carted into the castle with a gaggle of children who stood no higher than his midriff.

"He'll be coming with us, Hagrid," Orion answered, coming to stand beside him and beaming up at the giant. Leo started at the name as he recognised the Keeper of Keys, one of the people that his Weasley relatives had spoken off with great fondness.

"Aye, Ryan," sighed the giant, "You won't be taking my class this 'ear, will yer?" Leo could have sworn that Hagrid sounded hopeful.

"Nope," grinned Orion cheerfully, already steering Leo away from the throng of first-years, "I don't really think Care of Magical Creatures is for me."

"I think that's because you hate getting your hands dirty," chuckled Jeremy as he joined them, "Come on then, the girls already have a carriage for us."

The three boys made their way up the hill quickly until they came to the carriages; elegant, medieval looking contraptions that made Leo yearn for his uncle's car. Then he saw them and froze.

Great bat-like wings curled against their skeletal sides, black as night and creepy as all hell. Hooked beaks shone in the gathering moonlight, soulless eyes fixed straight on the road ahead. Staring at the steeds that pulled Death's Chariot, he felt himself grow weak in the legs.

"Thestrals," he breathed faintly, swaying on his feet as they seemed to call him back to his place beyond the Veil.

"You okay, mate?" asked Jeremy in concern, reaching out an arm to steady him as he nearly fell.

"I should have taken the boats," muttered Leo grimly, allowing the other two boys to help him into the carriage where he immediately slumped against the seat, a sheen of sweat crossing his brow despite the cool night air.

"What's wrong with him?" he heard Cecilia ask Orion, and he fought back the urge to scream that he was right here and could answer for himself.

"I died, remember," Leo groaned before Orion could answer, "Death doesn't like to relinquish his grasp on us once we pass."

He heard them chattering around him, but he tuned them out and tried to focus on his impending Sorting. A strange fear clawed at him, making him wonder if his death and resurrection coupled with his inability to use a wand would keep him from being Sorted. What if he just sat there, until the Hat declared that a mistake had been made and he was to be sent home? Leo didn't think he could bear the shame of that happening – he would be less than useless – little more than a freak-show who had died before he had even had the chance to be born.

"A knut for your thoughts, handsome?" someone said from beside him and he turned, roused from his musings and fears to see a stranger. Obviously a few other people had boarded the carriage before they had left and he been too caught up in his self-pity to notice.

"I'm Amara," she smiled, gracing him with a smouldering look. Leo found himself gulping as he felt her hand come to rest on his thigh, a gesture he didn't understand. Perhaps it was just a way of comforting him, considering that he was sure that he looked quite queasy from having met the thestral's gaze.

"You seem tense," she added, a sultry look in her brown, near black, eyes. Leo stared at her for a moment, taking in her olive skin and long lashes, framed by a cascade of sable curls.

"Just feeling a little sick," he gulped, his breath hitching as he felt her hand slip a little higher up his leg. Somehow, her movements didn't seem so innocent anymore. On his other side, he could distinctly hear Jeremy mask a single word with a cough.

"_Slag."_

Leo swallowed uncomfortably and tried to turn his attention away from Amara, in the hopes that she would leave him alone whilst he spoke to his cousin and friends. When he felt her hand tighten on his upper thigh though, only one thought crossed his mind.

_Morgana, please let this be a short trip._

(*)(*)(*)

The Great Hall was everything she had imagined and more, the enchanted ceiling captivating her as she stared up at it, not looking where she was going and continuously bumping into Trys. Sure, she had seen the castle before whenever her mother had made the journey to visit Aunt Rose, but there was something distinctly different about being there as a student rather than a guest.

It was just so much more magical.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as the first years finally reached the front of the Hall, her fingers twitching nervously as a stool was carried forward and set beside them. Aurora resisted the urge to wave at the man who carried it, Professor Lupin, and settled for a quick wink. He nodded in response and not for the first time she noticed the streaks of grey that traced his turquoise hair and the wrinkles which creased his face. Even though he was by no means old, the emotional strain of worrying for his son was affecting his metamorphmagus abilities.

He set the Hat down upon the stool and moved to stand to one side so as to allow the age-old artefact to survey the room at leisure. She stared at it curiously, shards of resentment filling her as she remembered the old stories.

The sword that killed her father had been drawn from that hat.

As a mouth appeared along its brim to sing, Aurora could do little more than glare at the tattered piece of headwear with utter loathing.

_A thousand years and more have passed_

_But never have I sensed a time_

_When my words were no longer needed_

_Twelve dozen children have demanded_

_To do a job that is mine_

_So hear me, understand now, that I will not heed your words_

_I'll slip over your ears and eyes and look into your mind_

_Choose to place you in the house that truly will be yours_

_So will you be a Gryffindor_

_Where dwell the bravest souls_

_Or perhaps a Hufflepuff_

_For loyalty and heart_

_Or do you lie with Ravenclaw_

_Where wit and wisdom flourish_

_Perchance you are a Slytherin_

_Where thrive the most determined_

_Your fate is yours to choose, so do not get me wrong_

_Your House does not define you_

_Rather you define your House_

_I fear I've grown much too lax_

_By listening to your whining_

_And tonight this all must end_

_Heed my words and understand_

_I sort you_

_Not divide you_

_Let the Sorting now begin._

"Before we begin with the first-years," Teddy's voice rang through the silent room, all of whom were staring at the hat in bewilderment, "We have two new students to sort, who due to unfortunate events, were not able to attend their previous years at Hogwarts."

Aurora chuckled, that was one way to put it. Matthew had missed his Sorting because he had been in hiding whilst his mother had been infiltrating the Cult of Shadows and Leo . . . well Leo had been dead.

"Avery, Matthew."

Her friend took the stairs two at a time, seemingly eager to be done with the whole business. The hat slipped past his ears and obscured his eyes, coming to rest on the bridge of his nose before yelling:

"SLYTHERIN!"

Matthew grinned as he scurried off to join his new house, his tie striping with green and silver as he walked. When finally the applause died down, Teddy cleared his throat and spoke in a thick voice:

"Potter, Leo."

The room was so silent that you could have heard a pin drop and think that the clink was actually a clap of thunder. As her brother climbed the stairs towards the Hat, she could see his fingers tremble, a sure sign that he was nervous. When he settled himself onto the stool, she tried to catch his eye and wink in reassurance, but Leo had his eyes firmly shut.

The hat slipped onto his head as excited murmurings broke out across the Hall. For her part, Aurora wished they would all just shut up. She knew how her brother must feel at this point, lost in a world that he didn't quite understand. As a child who had been born with the ability to see beyond the Veil, something that she still did not wholly understand, she knew better than most what it was like to be different from everyone around her.

Finally, the Hat spoke:

"SLYTHERIN!"

Her brother breathed a sigh of relief as he practically ran to his house table, a broad smile on his face as the people around him began to ruffle his hair. She doubted that a Slytherin had ever received such raucous applause as their Sorting before but she knew her brother was where he was meant to be.

Slytherin was their home. It was one of the only ways for both of them to bond with the memory of their father, the first Slytherin Potter.

After that, the Sorting progressed at quite an impressive speed. She gave Trys a broad thumbs up as his tie became striped with red and gold and waited with anticipation for her name to be called. Finally, after what felt like hours but was in actuality ten minutes, Teddy stepped forward and read:

"Potter, Aurora."

She climbed the stairs with whatever dignity she could muster, biting her lip as the hat slid down past her eyes.

"_Bah! Another Potter-Malfoy," _the Hat grumbled, its creaky voice resounding through her mind.

"_Another Slytherin,"_ she thought back at the Hat, frowning when a thrill of laughter echoed between her ears.

"_Are you sure about that, little Aurora?"_ the Hat said, "_You're brave but also wise. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor would suit you better."_

"_I choose Slytherin," _she muttered.

"_Didn't you hear my song?" _it asked, _"I do not take requests."_

"_You let my parents choose . . . and my grandfather," _she pointed out.

"_To their own sorrow."_

"_You said that it is we who define our house, implying that it is we who define ourselves. How else am I to define myself if I don't make my own decisions?"_

The Hat laughed, a deep booming sound that filled the entire Hall and she was acutely aware that she had been sitting here for a very long time.

"_Trust a Slytherin to be able to find my loophole,"_ it chuckled, and Aurora felt her heart leap with joy.

(*)(*)(*)

Leo leaned back against his headboard, his thick blankets wrapped around him to keep the chill at bay. His new dormitories were located beneath the Black Lake and at this part of autumn, the temperature was quite cool. It was enough to make him dread the coming winter and yearn for a pair of thick pyjamas rather to sleep in rather than his boxers, as he had grown accustomed to doing following Orion's instruction of the subject.

His eyes drifted to the roof of the four poster bed and widened at the dark scorch marks that blackened the wood. It could have just been his imagination but Leo was sure that there was a lingering trace of dark magic in those burns.

It was oddly soothing to him and in lieu of the sleep that eluded him; he decided to fixate on the bed.

His eyes travelled over the burns before falling following the marks and indentations on the wood, finally coming to rest on a set of scratches carved into the bottom left post. Eagerly moving forward, he realised that they weren't scratches.

They were carvings.

Squinting to discern what they said, he clicked his fingers together to conjure a soft white flame between the tips. Holding it close to the carvings to find out what they meant, he felt himself finally relaxing.

_A.S.P_

_For_

_C.A.M_

_for ever and always_

_-June 2024_

Leo didn't need to be a genius or an expert at life to understand whose initials those were.

Feeling lighter and more comfortable than he had since boarding the train that morning, he settled back into the bed – his father's bed – and let sleep overtake him.

(*)(*)(*)

**A/N: Thoughts?**


	7. Chapter 6

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter Six**

**Wayward Son**

"Draco," Hermione said in a quiet voice, her expression gravely serious, "I think I know why that Cultist used a gun when he tried to assassinate you." Her voice trembled as she spoke – she had nearly lost him far too many times to count and every time he survived made it seem to her, more and more, that they were simply daring fate.

The constant worry she felt for her husband sometimes made her yearn for the days in which their love had been simply a torrid affair, hidden from the public eye. Before she could delve deeper into the bottomless pit that was her concern for her family's welfare, Draco had sunk into the seat beside her and leaned in to kiss her wrinkled cheek.

"Do tell," he urged when she remained silent, content to simply blush like a schoolgirl whilst his kisses made her feel, as they always did, as if she was seventeen and not in her early seventies.

"I had to look in some of the darkest spellbooks, Draco," she replied, a stony look crossing her face as she remembered what it was she had discovered.

"I had to use Bellatrix's old grimoire," she added, "the one that . . ." she choked up a little, looking away as Draco supplied the words that she couldn't.

"The book that led Albus to summoning his first Shadow," sighed Draco, slinging an arm around her.

She relaxed into his hold, but that did not stop the ever-present guilt which had plagued her for the past few decades. The grimoire had been in Malfoy Manor – and for what it was worth, she and Draco may well have given him the book themselves.

It haunted her, that had they perhaps been more vigilant, the world would not have fallen to shadow. Shaking her head, she turned back to face him, blinking back the tears as drew herself back into the matter at hand.

"The gun," she cleared her throat, "It's a common make. It's the bullet that holds the true danger."

"The Sorting Hat made the right call in putting you in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw," chuckled Draco, "I would have never guessed that the bullet was more dangerous than the gun."

"Shut up, you tosser," she scolded, though the light curve of her lips betrayed her attempts to conceal her amusement.

"It's a named bullet," she continued, lifting a picture of the bullet up from the table and showing it to him, pointing out the initials carved into the metal.

_D.M_

A named bullet was old magic . . . old, dark magic. Once named and enchanted, the bullet would not miss when fired, and would always guarantee that the person it struck would die if the initials matched. Of course, the spells were tricky – Hermione distinctly remembered that the spell, if improperly cast, could lead to devastating consequences for all those involved. There had been two other bullets in the magazine, and two of them had chilled her to the bone.

_S.M_

He might not have been her son by blood, but damn it all if she didn't love Scorpius as if he were her own, having been his stepmother since he had been eleven.

"Aunt Bella always was fond of pruning the family tree," sighed Draco, frowning as he read the initials on the last bullet, and the large red writing across the picture.

_H.G – Reported Missing from Evidence _

She feigned a smile at her husband as his face grew ashen, the realisation sinking in as his mind made the connection.

Hermione may have been a Malfoy for over twenty years and a Weasley for another twenty, but she had been born a Granger. . .

And there truly was no fooling a named bullet.

(*)(*)(*)

Blood splattered across the wall as Scorpius pulled back his fist, glaring at the man bound to the chair in front of him. A few flecks of scarlet stained his crisp suit, and his knuckles were already bruising from delivering such a slew of beatings to their suspect. So far, all that he had managed to find out from the man had been his name – Jack Rhodes – and that he had just been doing "his job."

Naturally, such a lack of co-operation had only served to piss both his brother and himself off more than they already were. Scorpius lashed out again when Jack sneered at him, striking him on the mouth and breaking a few more of the man's teeth.

It had been a simple matter to transport the Cultist to this location after his father had dealt with the man. Scorpius and Hugo, the Malfoy Brothers, were arguably the two most powerful men in Wizarding Britain, one standing as Minister for Magic whilst the other reigned as director for their world's leading conglomerate. With James assisting them, pulling strings as only he could, they had encountered no obstacles at getting the deplorable man to their interrogation chamber.

"If you keep that up," scowled James from the corner of the room, frowning at the two Malfoy men standing on either side of the suspect, "He'll be dead before he talks."

"Not really our concern," snapped Hugo, wiping his knife on a damp cloth to clean off the dried blood. Scorpius bit back a retort, there really was no point in arguing amongst themselves and letting the little bastard succeed in riling them up.

"You hear that," snarled Scorpius, leaning in so that he was inches away from the man's face, a wicked gleam in his silver-grey eyes as he spoke, "We don't give a rat's arse about you living and dying, that's why we're here where nobody can hear you scream. So why don't you do yourself a favour and spill?"

He could see the frantic whirring of the man's mind behind his eyes, deliberating whether or not to confess or to keep his silence. Scorpius had made a valid point – they weren't on Ministry premises, nor where they on Order premises. They were in one of the cosy little interrogation rooms Malfoy Holdings had built specifically for the Outcasts to use – deep underground and buried with more wards than Hogwarts.

There was no escape.

There truly was nobody to hear the prisoner scream.

"What's to stop you killing me anyway?" Jack asked thickly, his mouth full of blood and broken teeth, "I did try to kill your father, after all."

He was about to respond when James spoke from his position against the wall, his voice cooler and more cynical than he had ever heard before in all his years of knowing his brother-in-law.

"On my honour as a Potter, as a father and as the Director of the Order," he said clinically, "I will not let them kill you."

"Your honour means shit to me," scoffed the man, coughing and spraying Scorpius' suit with blood and saliva. Damn, this meant he would have to head to the office to change before heading home – no cleaning spell could undo so much damage to Italian silk.

"I'll make you an Unbreakable Vow," offered James, holding out his hand with a raised eyebrow and nodding at Hugo. The younger man frowned before undoing one of their prisoner's shackles and letting him grasp James' hand.

Scorpius frowned when asked to be their bonder, eyes widening at the knowing look in James' eyes. Nodding imperceptibly, he touched his wand to their clasped hands.

"Do you, James Sirius Potter, swear to not let myself or my brother kill this man?"

"I do."

The golden thread of energy flowed from his wand, twisting serpentine around their held hands before fading into their skin. James smirked as he pulled his hand away, and asked:

"Why doesn't Veritaserum work on you?"

"We Cultist's are not fools – we treat ourselves with a liberal dosage of the antidote to truth serum before leaving on a mission."

Scorpius frowned and exchanged a look with Hugo. The antidote to veritaserum was rare and Malfoy Holdings was the only organisation to produce and store it in their vaults. The recipe had been developed by their sister, Cassiopeia, years ago and the news that the Cultists had access to this did not bode well – it was becoming evident that there may be a mole within the Outcasts.

"Who sent you to kill Draco Malfoy?"

"The Dark Lady," admitted Jack, "she knows that he's one of the biggest threats to her plans because of his power."

"How did you get into the Ministry?"

"I can't answer that," replied Jack, "They'll kill me if I do."

"Bear in mind that my protection lasts only as long as you co-operate," snapped James, and Scorpius had to admire his brother-in-law's almost Slytherin cunning. He was leading their Cultist prisoner through a maze by using a little block of cheese, nonchalantly extracting every little kernel of information from the man whilst doing so.

Jack's eyes flickered to the two Malfoys, widening at the vicious looks they both wore before falling back upon James' indiscernible expression. Scorpius could only smirk as the man spilled his innermost secrets . . . obviously they should play good cop, bad cop more often.

"One of the master keys had been kept safe by a member of the Dark Lady's inner circle," Jack yelped when Hugo took a menacing step forward, his silver knife gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

"Who kept this key safe?" prodded James.

"I don't know her name, I swear! I just know that they call her the Temptress," he spluttered in response.

"Is that all you know?"

"Yes, so you can let me go now, right?"

James chuckled darkly before smirking, causing their prisoner to tremble whilst Scorpius watched in grim fascination. This wasn't a side of James Potter that he was familiar with – but it was one that he quite liked. Somehow, the almost feral look in the man's hazel eyes reminded him of Albus, his late best mate and brother in all but blood.

"You gave me your word that I would survive!" Jack yelled, straining against his bonds as James turned away from him.

"I swore that I wouldn't let Scorpius or Hugo kill you," explained James, not looking at the pitiful man in chains, "I said nothing about myself."

James whirled before his words could be processed by those in the room around him, the knife cutting a red arc through the air as it opened Jack's throat from ear to ear, causing the prisoner to slump as blood spewed from the gaping wound. Breathing deeply, James dropped the knife with a clang, raising an eyebrow at the surprised look on Scorpius' face.

"I thought you hated killing," Scorpius frowned at the older man, Hugo staring at them both with a slightly confused look on his face. He was sure that, like him, his brother was stunned by the fluid manner in which James had taken a life, almost mechanical and with no emotion whatsoever.

"That was before they went after my family," shrugged James, wiping his bloody hands across his jeans.

(*)(*)(*)

"One. Two. Three," she muttered to herself, slipping into a steady rhythm as she chopped the vegetables for dinner, forcing herself to think of nothing else other than the numbers. It was a trick she had picked up during her long months of recuperation – the best way for her to be freed from her trauma was to focus on anything but.

Sometimes, she chose to hum under her breath and other times, she would recite her old school notes, as if she were still in Hogwarts. It was a distraction, one that served to keep her mind clear of the lingering memories of her torture. Despite all her choices though, Kat often found herself counting, falling back into the old routine she had perfected when taking Arithmancy to NEWT level.

She found it oddly soothing, to lose herself in the numbers and dispel her debilitating spasms or shivers for a time. Loathe as she was to admit it, the Cultists had succeeded in breaking her, and her only blessing – one that she held close to her heart – was that she had escaped the fate of those driven insane by the cruciatus.

"Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen," she counted, the knife cutting through the carrots as if they were butter. She could, of course, have done the dinner preparations with magic but she had found that doing things manually were often much more therapeutic.

The oven chimed, letting her know that it was hot enough for her to pop in the chicken, but that little sound was all it took to throw her off balance, causing her to lose count.

"Twenty nine," she mumbled, "thirty nine?" She felt her fingers begin to tremble as she panicked, struggling to search her fragmented mind for the missing number. Kat was sure that there was a nine involved – in fact; the unit had definitely been a nine. What had the ten been though? A twenty, a thirty or had she already passed forty?

"You okay, mum?" she heard Riley ask from the door, slurping at a juice-box as he stared at her through widened eyes. Not wanting to worry him, she nodded, not daring to turn around and face him as it simply would not do for her son to see the panic in her eyes.

"I'm fine," she stuttered, trying to focus on the numbers, her crutch whenever Xavier wasn't around to support her. _Nineteen? Ninety nine? Fifty nine?_

_What had it been?_

Her fingers trembled violently as she fought back the memories, not wanting to relive the experiences. The Cultists had gone to great lengths in their quest to shatter her grasp on sanity, and the cruciatus had been just the tip of the iceberg.

They had ripped her teeth from her gums, cut her skin in half a hundred places and then doused her in salt. She had been burned by boiling oil, branded by hot metal, had her fingernails torn away from her body. Bones had been broken; she had gone days without food or water, left suspended from the ceiling by rusted chains till her shoulders screamed in pain.

Such torture damaged more than the body . . . it desecrated the mind.

She had endured, the thoughts of her sons being all that had kept her alive, the urge to see them again burning within her even as they had scorched her flesh with acid. Matthew and Riley . . . they were her boys, the only children she would ever – could ever – have. The Cultists knives had been brutal and Francesca had delivered the news when she was first under her cousin-in-law's care at St. Mungo's.

"Mum!" yelled Riley, dashing across the room. The loud sound yanked her down deeper into her forbidden memories, the sound of the chair tipping over sounding eerily reminiscent of her bones being shattered by hammers.

The Cultists had enjoyed doing things manually as well.

Idly, she was aware that she had cut her hand, that the pile of evenly sliced carrots was slowly being covered by blood. The sluggish warmth spreading across her skin was torture; she could see it welling in other places, dripping from her every pore as they made her bleed again.

The knife fell from her hand, clattering against the wooden chopping board and causing the growing puddle of blood to splash across her. Kat cried out in alarm, screaming as she felt them begin to cut into her with their jagged blades.

"Mum!" Riley shook her, making no difference as she shivered bodily, clutching at the counters and begging for her phantom torturers to leave her alone.

The next minute he was gone and she heard the roar of fire in her ears, echoing through her home, and whilst the rational part of her recognised it as the sound of the floo, she screamed at the feeling of molten lead being tracked across her skin.

"Get away," she shrieked as strong arms closed around her, just as she was about to crumple. Her eyes watered, bloodshot as she clawed and slapped at her attacker, kicking at his shins and struggling to get free.

"Let me go," she screamed, bile filling her throat as she remembered the feel of a line being run down the length of her spine, the blade coated with salamander blood.

"No," he whispered into her ear, his voice soft and reassuring, and she felt herself relax almost instantaneously, _his_ voice serving to draw her back to reality.

"I will never let you go, Katherine," he continued as the tears trickled down her cheeks, cool against her skin as she buried her head into his shoulder.

"Xavier," she sobbed, "I . . . I'm so sorry, Xavier. I can't . . . broken inside."

Her words were incoherent but he seemed to understand, drawing them both down to the floor with her enveloped in his arms. Xavier rocked her back and forth in his arms, whispering into her ear that it would all be okay, promising her that nothing would ever happen to her again.

That he would keep her safe.

A smaller pair of arms closed around her and she lightened considerably as she felt her youngest son hug her, enclosing her between his father and himself. Her breathing slowly returning to normal, she turned to press a kiss into Riley's forehead.

_Her boys._

(*)(*)(*)

His heart hammered in his chest as he knocked on the door, his eyes narrowed in distaste as he surveyed the dingy motel. For the life of him, he did not know why his son would choose to come here of all places – surely there were several other options for accommodation that were less seedy. Then again, his boy was walking a dark road, one that Teddy wished that he could walk for him.

The sound of a young man cursing was evident on the other side of the door, so he knocked again, firmer this time.

"Open the door, Remy," demanded Teddy Lupin, "I know you're in there."

"You have the wrong room," a woman's voice, soft and sensual wafted through the half-rotted wood. Had the circumstances been different, Teddy was sure that he would have laughed at his son's last ditch effort to avoid him. The boy seemed to have forgotten who it was that had taught him how to control his abilities.

"_Daddy!" squealed the four year old boy, dashing across the living room and flinging himself onto his father, succeeding in knocking the wind out of him on impact. Teddy gasped, quickly composing himself before grabbing the child and spinning him through the air, beaming at his son's delighted peals of laughter. _

"_How's my little man?" grinned Teddy, balancing Remy in one arm and leaning in to peck his wife on the lips. She smiled at them both for a few minutes before returning to the kitchen, from which wafted the delicious aroma of roast beef._

"_I'm doing awesome, daddy," declared Remy, "I managed to turn my hair blue today."_

"_Really?" Teddy asked in disbelief. It had taken him years to be able to consciously change his hair colour from its usual turquoise when he had been a child. To be honest, he had still been having difficulty keeping his hair from shifting up till his first year of Hogwarts and here was his boy, morphing at age four. _

"_Really," grinned Remy, and Teddy recoiled at the sound of his voice coming from his son's lips. The little boy screwed up his nose in concentration and within seconds, streaks of azure were appearing through his shock of neon-green hair. _

"_Who taught you how to change your voice?" he asked, frowning because his job as a parent had just become a lot harder. Voice manipulation had allowed him to pull a fair few pranks in his youth, in addition to him being able to imitate his godparents' voices and tell the other to do something that would benefit him._

"_I watched you do it," Remy shrugged his tiny shoulders, "And I wanted to be just like you because you're the bestest."_

"I swear I'll blow this damn door down if you don't open it," barked Teddy, his patience at an end, "I'm just here to talk."

The door swung open to reveal his son, a heavy scowl upon his lean face.

"Then talk," snapped Remy, but all Teddy could do was stare. Whilst his son had always been lithe, he now appeared to have lost pounds he couldn't afford to have lost, and his muscles were taut against his skin. His knuckles were bruised and scraped as if from a brawl with a particularly violent brick wall, his eyes more haunted that they had been the last time he had seen him. The neon-green hair was still present, his son's signature colour, but there was no mistaking the bloodshot eyes and stubble.

Nor could Teddy overlook the strong stench of Firewhiskey that invaded his nostrils.

Nevertheless, before daring to say a word he had pulled his son into the tightest hug he could muster. For the first time in weeks, the whorls of grey faded from his hair, as did the wrinkles from his face. The senior metamorphmagus bit back a sigh when his son stiffened in his embrace, but some part of him refused to let go until a dry, hacking cough escaped Remy's mouth.

"_Dad," a fifteen year old Remy cleared his throat, causing him to look up from his desk. Quickly seeing the nervous look on his son's face, he pushed aside the textbook he had been using to plan his next lesson and gestured to the seat across from him. _

"_This is a pleasant surprise," he smiled, "I was beginning to think that the only time I ever see you is in my classes." Remy had the decency to blush at the comment, a slight jab against him not visiting his father as often as he should have. Teddy understood that his son wanted his independence and as such preferred to spend time with his peers, but he could at least take the time to have tea with his old man every now and then. _

"_I need some help, dad," he stammered after a short pause, "Promise you won't laugh though?"_

"_I won't laugh," agreed Teddy, "You don't have to be nervous, Remy. You can tell me anything and I'll never laugh at you."_

"_You know how we can't morph different aspects of our hair into different colours at the same time?" Remy asked, his face pale and Teddy could very well hear his young heart thumping in his chest with anxiety as he spoke. Despite the urge to laugh – because he knew where this conversation was going now – he had made a promise and so he just nodded. _

"_Well this never bothered me before," pointed out Remy, "Quidditch showers and the dormitory bathrooms weren't much of a bother because they're me mates and I can't be embarrassed by them because they know me but I may have a girlfriend and I'm really nervous that she'll be turned off to find out that I . . . That I . . . That I . . ." he trailed off uncomfortably, and Teddy has to once more suppress a chuckle at his son's ramblings. _

"_That you have neon green pubic hair?" supplied Teddy._

He didn't know what it had been that had triggered that particular memory; he just knew that it was one that could never fail to make him smile.

"How'd you find me?" asked Remy, moving aside to let Teddy walk into the room. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of the filthy room, littered with freshly crumpled beer cans and burned out cigarette stumps. It hurt him, worse than any curse he had taken during his auror days, to see his son on a downward spiral of self-destruction.

"I know you," he shrugged, "It took me a few weeks to put the clues together, but I found you and that's what matters."

"Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"

"It's a Saturday."

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're my son and I can't see you like this. I've been worried sick for weeks, no months, ever since you came back from that godforsaken mission. Your mother is tearing her hair out with worry. Andrea, I don't even know how to get through to her any more, she's become so reclusive and isolated from the world. Merlin, Remy, do you have any idea how it's hurting us to not know whether you're alive or dead?"

"AND WHAT ABOUT WHAT I'M FEELING! What about the fact that I didn't go into that hellhole alone. That I lost someone in there! That a piece of me fucking died in that dungeon!" Remy was on his feet. The young man yanked a chain off his neck and held it to Teddy's face, causing his heart to plummet more than it already had as he caught sight of the two rings dangling from the silver links.

"One of these is her signet ring. The other was the one I was going to propose with as soon as we got home from that mission."

"Remy, ple–"

"What would you do if you were wearing my shoes right now and it had been mum who had died?"

Teddy felt as though he had been slapped, and his jaw hung agape as tears burned in his eyes. If he had found himself in his son's position then there was no denying that he would destroy the entire world rather than live in it without Victoire. As much as he hated to admit it, his son had raised a fair point. Remy had loved the Pierce girl with all his heart.

His son just needed closure.

But he couldn't just let his son die because of a girl whose heart no longer beat.

"Remy," he sighed, "Please . . . Don't make me have to bury my son . . . Please."

"You won't bury me," replied Remy, his eyes flashing and darkening to an inky black, his bruised knuckles trembling, "I have to do this, dad. I'll come home when I'm done. I need to avenge her."

"They say that when you go seeking revenge, you must be prepared to dig two graves," Teddy said softly, his voice breaking as he clasped a hand on his son's shoulder, "I cannot stop you in your quest but please, promise me that you will prove them wrong and come home when this is all over."

"I promise."

(*)(*)(*)

**A/N: First of all, I'm sorry about the delay in getting this chapter to you all. University has been a real bitch to me, to be honest, and my courses are taking a hell of a lot of my time. Regardless, I will try my best to update this on a regular basis. **

**Secondly, because of the divulging plot arcs, one taking part in Hogwarts with Leo, Aurora and the gang whilst the other arc is taking place with the adults, the chapters are now going be set in an alternating pattern, one with the kids and one with the adults, till they eventually merge. **

**Thirdly, I'm moving The Ghost Prince from a T-rating to an M-rating due to the heavy violence that's been showcased so far. It's been pointed out to be, and I've been suspecting, that concepts like Remy's revenge arc, Kat's torture and such aren't conducive for a younger audience and I just want to warn future readers better because this series is a rather dark one. **

**Finally, from this chapter on, The Lord of Shadows will be beta'd by the amazing TwilightMoonbeams (Check out her stories, 'Picking Up the Pieces' is one of my favourite canon compliant pieces ever) and this is, once again, just to ensure that the chapters uploaded are off the utmost quality. **

**Thoughts on this chapter?**


	8. Chapter 7

**The Ghost Prince**

**Chapter Seven**

**Dreams of Future Past**

The creeping fingers of winter were just now beginning to make themselves known to the students of Hogwarts, sneaking up on them during the early mornings and late evenings. There was no doubt in any of their minds that Christmas this year would be a dismally frigid affair, though despite the protests of everyone else, Leo was determined to experience snow.

Therefore, he was the only one of their group who never complained about the worsening weather, even though he had what was by far the worst end of the stick. The Slytherin dormitories were located below the Black Lake and it was not uncommon for him to wake up to see his breath fogging before him as he blinked, bleary eyed, and hugged the blankets to his body in an attempt to banish the chill.

Autumn was already old, a waning season that was already in the throes of death, leaving behind nothing but bare trees and dried grass. Thus, the strange and unexpected heat had come as a welcome surprise to the inhabitants of Hogwarts, allowing them to turn in their scarves and gloves and spend a day just lazing around the grounds. It was as though summer had emerged for one last valiant dance across the clear sky before November became December and autumn became winter.

Leaning against the old oak beside the Black Lake, Leo let out a sigh of contentment as he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the sun against his skin. On days like this, he was thankful that he hadn't inherited the porcelain paleness of his mother's family. Although he was indeed, quite fair-skinned, he did have a light tan courtesy of his father which prevented him from burning in the sunlight.

At the very least, he, unlike Orion, would never be confused for a vampire who hadn't managed to obtain their daily fix of blood.

"Remind me to buy Aunt Rose an extra special Christmas present this year," said Orion, from where he was lying on the ground with his head in Keira's lap, "cancelling all classes today to let us enjoy the weather."

"Speak for yourself," sighed Cecilia, peaking her eyes out from behind her book, "I had a double Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Lupin today."

"I've said it once and I'll say it again," muttered Jeremy from his perch halfway up the tree, one leg slung over a branch and the other stretched out on it, "you work too hard, Lia."

"Call me Lia one more time, Wood," snapped Cecilia, looking up to glare daggers at the boy, "I dare you." Leo stifled a chuckle as he listened to them, making sure not to let any sound of his amusement show . . . Cecilia Pierce often came across as a timid, intellectual girl but there was truly no denying that when angered, she could outduel them all. He often found himself staring at her when he guard was down – there was a lingering sadness about the Ravenclaw that no amount of laughter or books could hide.

Somehow, he found himself wanting to know more about what had branded her with such sorrow. It was odd to him, because he felt as though he should already know what it was that was wrong with her; that the connection should have been made by his mind long ago. Try as he might though, he could not figure out what it was that haunted Cecilia . . . though he was sure that he would have to give himself a good kick when he finally discovered what it was.

It had been difficult for him to settle into Hogwarts but he found that with time, he had been able to form a routine. Every morning, he would meet his friends at the Gryffindor table for breakfast before having to run off for his earliest classes. Due to him being a very unique case as far as students went, Aunt Rose had devised special time-table for him that was as gruelling as it was rewarding.

He would have to get her an extra-special Christmas present for her as well, come to think of it. His aunt's quick thinking had been all that had allowed him to attend Hogwarts in the first place.

Of course, his goodwill towards the Hogwarts staff did have its limits. Old, crotchety Professor Trelawney in particular was a thorn in his sides as there had not yet been a Divination class that year in which she had not predicted his death.

Leo really didn't understand how him seeing a bowl of porridge in his crystal ball could amount to him drowning.

"Leo!" he was brought back to his surroundings by Jeremy's voice, laced with a vague hint of irritation and he realised that his mind must have wandered off again. By the way everyone was looking at him; Jeremy must have been trying to get his attention for quite some time.

"Sorry, mate, I was thinking of something," Leo muttered, having the decency to blush as Orion laughed. Frowning at his cousin, he waited for Jeremy to tell him what he wanted or for Orion to tell him what was so funny. Knowing his cousin, it would probably be something that was embarrassing for him.

"Well, that there is pretty distracting," grinned Orion, raising his eyebrows and glancing in the direction that Leo had been absentmindedly staring, cringing when Keira smacked him over the head. He turned to look at what his cousin was gesturing at, mouth growing dry as he caught sight of _her._

She was absolutely gorgeous. Lustrous black curls framed her olive-toned face, a perfect complement to the emerald green bikini she wore, skimpy and definitely against Hogwarts regulations. Her body was seduction, her walk was an invitation and Leo found his cheeks burning bright red as she caught him staring, favouring him with a wink before realising what his friends must have all thought.

"I wasn't staring at Amara," he threw up his hands as he turned to glare at them, noting Keira and Jeremy's raised eyebrows, Orion's mischievous smirk and Cecilia burrowed back into her book, seemingly disinterested in their conversation.

"I wasn't," he said again when none of them seemed willing to believe him.

"Make sure you don't catch anything," replied Keira, rolling her eyes at his stutters.

"Catch anything?" he asked, confused. What could he catch? Would she be throwing things at him? Somehow, he didn't think that was what they meant . . . since the mortifying conversation on the train, Jeremy and Orion had sat him down and given him a painfully detailed lesson about shagging, much to his horror.

Maybe they just missed the bit about throwing things at the other person out by accident?

Jeremy laughed as he regarded him, something that Leo didn't appreciate, but then, thankfully changed the topic to whatever it was he had been asking earlier.

"Could you, you know, do what Orion has refused to do for the past two years and introduce me to your cousin?" he asked, a spark of hope appearing in his eyes, causing his confusion to grow. The only female cousin he could think of was quite a bit younger than they were, still a second year to be precise.

"Amoretta?" he asked, "Bartido will kill you just for looking at her the wrong way."

"Not her," exclaimed Jeremy in horror, the look on his face making it perfectly clear as to what he thought of those who would dare try to date the granddaughter of George Weasley, one half of the legendary Weasley Twins.

"Then who?"

"He's talking about Andrea," sighed Orion, "I keep telling him it isn't going to happen, what with Remy and all that's happened."

"Andy?" Leo's eyebrow's shot up as he spoke, "Can't you just go talk to her yourself?"

He didn't know what was worse; the crestfallen look on Jeremy's face, the way Orion rolled his eyes at him or the giggles of both girls.

"I need to start hanging out with dead people," he grumbled, folding his arms and looking resolutely in the other direction, "they get me."

(*)(*)(*)

A sly smile crossed her face as she skimmed the water with her toes, flicking her wand nonchalantly and aiming a subtle cooling charm at the lake water around the jetty. Ordinarily, she would have felt bad about pulling a prank on her friends but today, considering that Trys and Matt had kept her awake half the previous night so they could copy her potions homework, she felt justified.

"That wasn't very nice," whispered the brunette beside her, a faint smile crossing her lips as she watched the water cool before their eyes. It wasn't long before both boys were treading water, their teeth chattering as they hauled themselves onto the shore and towards their clothes.

"How did you?" Aurora queried, making sure to wink at Trystane and Matthew, both boys shivering as they tugged their robes on over their swimming trunks and attempted to cast warming charms, despite their shuddering making it impossible for them to correctly pronounce the spell.

"My grandfather and father do both own Weasley Wizard Wheezes," grinned the Gryffindor, rolling her eyes. Aurora marvelled at the older girl – Amoretta Tahlea Weasley was in Matthew's year, and was one of the shyest people she had ever met. Despite this, there was no denying that when the mood struck her, 'Retta could be as wicked as they came. Of course, this probably had something to do with her father's, Fred II's, prankster genes but she did make a fine addition to their merry little band.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of hands on her back and she shrieked as she was shoved forwards, her body screaming as it hit the icy cold water. She was going to kill Trys and Matt as soon as she dried off.

Gracefully, she swam beneath the jetty, holding her breath as she moved underwater to prevent her friends realising what she was doing. Her smirk deepened as she reached the shore, crawling out and biting her fist to keep from laughing at the sight of the three of them staring into the still waters, faces ashen.

Flicking her wand to cast a warming charm, she shook herself brusquely as she dried off before tiptoeing towards them, fighting the urge to simply scream into their ears. She was not the daughter of the Slytherin Potter and the Malfoy Heiress for nothing . . . she knew exactly how to get what she wanted and in this case, she wanted to get one over on them.

"Do you think she's dead?" asked Trystane, wringing his hands as he peered into the lake, as if trying to search for bubbles that were not present.

"Aunt Cassie is going to murder us," whimpered Matthew, his face blanched paler than she had ever seen in her life.

"She's going to murder you, you mean," hollered Trystane, "you killed Aurora!"

"Maybe one of us should dive in after her?" suggested Amoretta in a calm voice, as if debating the weather. Aurora frowned at her cousin's lack of fear before realising what was happening. She was being reflected in Amoretta's reading glasses . . . and thus, her cousin was just playing along with the boys growing hysteria.

"Or maybe she's just going to come back as a ghost to haunt the pair of you," she finally said, in as spooky a voice as she could muster. Clutching her sides and nearly falling over with mirth, she grinned as both boys leapt into the air, shrill escaping from their mouths before they had the sense to turn and look at her, alive and well.

"You're supposed to be dead," gasped Trystane, clutching at Matthew as he tried to regain his balance.

"You're confusing me with my resurrected brother," she smirked victoriously, before extending an arm to help Amoretta to her feet and asked, in a perfectly normal voice, "treacle tart for supper?"

(*)(*)(*)

Andrea scowled as she walked down the empty corridors, ignoring the stares of the portraits and turning up her nose at their thinly veiled judgements on her persona. Belatedly, she wondered if they recognised her as the bubbly, pink-haired girl who used to conversed with them in her first year, or if they, like herself, had forgotten what it was to see her happy. Not that it really mattered, to be sure.

The sunlight sparkled of her piercings, slender loops and studs of silver which appeared thrice on each ear, from her lower lip and left eye-brow, and of course, her nose. It was about time that she got herself another, she thought as the row of windows ended and the jewellery ceased to glint.

She would like one on her belly-button . . . or perhaps two on her chest, one upon each clavicle, so that they metal could meld with her tattoo. It was ironic, really, that she would wear an angel in full flight across her torso, the tips of each wing meeting along her back, but once again she did not care if anyone judged her for having them.

All she cared about was her brother and seeing him happy again. She'd idolised Remy all her life and to see him brought so low . . . it had changed her irrevocably. She knew it. Her parents knew it. The world knew it.

No sister should have to suffer watching their hero waste away on a vendetta that would just cause him to suffer more.

Her inky-black hair framed her face in spunky waves, barely passing her shoulders and streaked with a deep, almost poisonous, purple. She pondered for a moment, as she caught her reflection in another window, was it time to change the streaks? Perhaps she could wear neon-green, in honour of her brother . . .

"Hey, Andy," the voice cut the air and she turned, raising an eyebrow as she caught sight of her cousin striding down the corridor behind her, one of his friend's in tow. When he had been resurrected, she was ashamed that she had felt only bitterness; that he could get another chance to live whilst the witch whose passing had destroyed her brother remained cold and rotting within the ground.

Had it been Demitria Pierce who had been brought back, perhaps her brother would still be safe and whole.

"Leo," she inclined her head slightly in greeting, looping her thumbs through her belt as she waited to hear what he had to say. It was unusual for anyone to speak to her – she liked to keep to herself and after the first few months of her silence, the people around her had out of necessity learned to not try and draw her into their conversations. Her cousins in particular knew of her role as the family pariah and as such, Leo coming up to her in a corridor was possibly a first time occurrence.

"This is Jeremy," he said without much ado, nudging the other boy a little, "he wanted to make your acquaintance."

"Did he?" she replied softly, a soft smirk playing on her face as she surveyed the boy. Brunet, athletic looking body, a deep tan that hinted at years spent outdoors, he was quite easy on the eyes. She took a minute to feel pity for her cousin . . . him not understanding social protocol must be a personal slice of hell just for him and his friends.

"Yep," Leo popped the 'P', "Orion says he likes you."

Ordinarily, she would have laughed and dismissed them both with a snide insult of some sort, but the blatantly humiliated look on Jeremy's face was enough to make her reconsider. Casually, she tapped her fingers against the smooth glass of the window before responding:

"I don't think you're my type to be honest," she shrugged, "now if you'll excuse me boys, I need to go and see my father. He's your Head of House, isn't he?" Andrea directed the last question at Jeremy, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the way he paled, before turning tail and practically dragging Leo with him as he beat a hasty retreat.

Allowing herself the pleasure of a smile, she continued on her way towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, which led to her father's office. The walk was short, her speed increased significantly after her run-in with her cousin and his friend and before long she was pushing her way into the office without bothering to knock.

He was her father after all. There was no need for social niceties when the man who had raised her was the one she was coming to call on.

"Andrea," Teddy gave her a wan smile before his face reddened, probably because of her attire. She could just see him struggling to suppress the urge to insist she go and change, as fathers were wont to do when their daughters walked around in mini-skirts. It wasn't a proper school-day today though and therefore she didn't have to abide by the school uniform.

"Don't call me Andrea," she snapped, tired onto death of her parents both refusing to call her by her nickname and opting for her given one instead, "it's Andy."

"Or don't you go by Fang now?" retorted Teddy, quirking an eyebrow with an expression of deep disappointment across his face. She opened her mouth to respond but no sound came out, her shock at her father knowing of her activities serving to silence her usual protests about her name.

"How did yo–"

"Students talk," he sighed, "and we Professors are not deaf. I'm not at all happy with all I've been hearing."

"Then maybe you should stop eavesdropping on people's conversations," she snipped. No doubt there would be the regular drug tests at St. Mungo's this holiday, her mother using her rank as Head of the Hospital to ensure that nobody save for the three of them even knew she was being tested. As usual, the tests would come back negative thanks to the potion she had procured from one of the seventh years to cleanse her system.

Or maybe her parents would surprise her for once and just forgo the entire pointless ordeal.

"I know you've been to see him," she finally said, changing the subject away from dangerous waters by bringing up the real point of her visit.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Teddy answered in a flat voice, one she knew he used whenever he was lying.

"The other day, when I asked you if you think he's OK, you said that the last time you saw him, he was alive and well, if still harbouring a lot of anger. Which implies that you've seen him."

"Score one for the Hufflepuff," muttered Teddy under his breath before meeting her eyes.

"Is he coming home?" she pressed on as if he hadn't spoken.

Her father looked at her, dark rings becoming evident under his eyes as his guise slipped, the strands of grey appearing through his hair as he shook his head. She didn't wait to hear anything more of what he had to say, instead getting to her feet and storming from the office, the desire to just become numb and isolated burning in her mind.

That night, she looked up from the Hufflepuff table, where she was sitting well away from her house-mates and caught the eye of the boy from earlier.

Jeremy, she thought his name was.

Her veins still thrumming with the residual energy of her last session with the _Golden Tears_, she curled her lips into a seductive smirk and gave him a smouldering look, one of the best she could muster.

"Room of Requirment," she mouthed, "Fifteen minutes."

Getting up from the table, her plate still full, she headed off to her destination without even checking to see if he was following.

He was of course.

(*)(*)(*)

_It was a dark world, filled with shifting sand and raging storms, no light seeming to sift through the roiling clouds overhead. With a start, she realised that there was no sun, that the light of day no longer shone because there was no source for the light. Apart from the glow of magma, burning from within the deep cracks in the ground, the world was in utter and complete darkness. _

_It took her some time longer to realise where she was but soon enough, the ghostly ruins standing before her were thrown into sharp relief by a spluttering gout of lava, torn from the earth as a slew of rocks tumbled into the chasm. The burnings droplets just missed her, landing in a fiery rain around her instead. _

_Hogwarts . . . she stared in disbelief at the gutted castle, all crumbling stones and blackened walls. Stepping backwards, she stumbled as she stepped on liquid, leaping forward and whirling to evade whatever it was that flowed behind her. _

_Her eyes widened and she fought the urge to be sick as she stared over what was once the Black Lake, now flowing sluggish and red as it swirled around an island made of bone, from which rose a throne. A lone man sat upon the throne, dishevelled black hair hanging limply around his skeletal face, his eyes closed. _

_For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be sleeping. _

_Bile rose in her throat as she noticed the white balls floating along the surface of the lake . . . each dotted with a different colour as they seemed to stare at her. Seconds later, she realised that she was right and that they were indeed gazing at her, and moments later she was bent over, vomit staining her teeth as it splattered across the dusty shore. _

_Eyes. _

_The Black Lake was filled with eyes, all of them gazing at her with a ruthless glare, seeming to condemn her for still being alive. _

"_What is this place," she muttered, clenching her fists as she regained her composure, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in a most unladylike gesture. The sickly tang of vomit caused her to gag and she longed for water, yet there was none._

"_This is the future," came a voice beside her, causing her to shriek in alarm as an alabaster hand fell upon her shoulder. Spinning on her feet, she delved into her robes for her wand, panic filling her as she realised that it was not there. _

"_Peace, child," murmured the woman, who was shrouded in twisting robes of grey from head to toe, her storm-grey eyes and spiderlike fingers being all that was visible. _

"_Who are you?" Aurora stammered, stepping away from the mysterious woman._

"_Has your mother not thought you the family history?" sighed the woman, "No, of course she hasn't. She has been too lax since the fall of her husband but nevertheless, the river of time waits for none."_

"_I am Cassandra Malfoy, The Mad Queen."_

"_Then if you are mad, forgive me for not believing you when you say that this is the future," snapped Aurora, stepping further away, gingerly avoiding looking at the sleeping man upon the throne of bone. _

"_Your eyes are still closed, a pity," said Cassandra softly, "but look around you . . . how else would such a vision be show to your eyes, seeress?"_

"_You're speaking in riddles."_

"_Yes, I am. To understand you must see for yourself that which needs to be seen, as you cannot be shown. This future, this world is what will come to pass should events not be altered, fate not defied."_

"_Why? Why tell me?" Aurora screamed, stomping her foot upon the dust and nearly losing her footing as it shifted beneath her, revealing a skeleton whose ribs pressed against her boots. Before her eyes, the sand shifted, showing the ground as it were, thousands of skeletons lying there, as if all the men and women of the world had perished together. _

"_It is your destiny. You are the thirteenth of our line to carry the sight. You will renew the balance."_

_Then she turned, feeling a pair of burning eyes upon her skull and she saw him, the man upon the throne, who seemed to vaguely familiar, open his eyes. _

_There were no whites, no colour, no light . . . they were pure darkness, burning with a desire to devour all that existed. Like a snake that consumes all before swallowing its own tail in desperation, she saw him cock his head to the side and rise from the throne. _

_She knew him. _

"_Daddy," she whispered, as the world went black._

She screamed, clutching at her sheets as she sat up in bed, her fingers trembling as a coppery taste mingled with a strange sourness on her tongue. Stretching out her hand, she grabbed her handkerchief from the bedside table and wiped it across her mouth, shuddering as it came away stained red and yellow.

Her eyes flitted over the bed, quickly realising that there was no trace of vomit save for the flecks within her mouth and on her lips. Shuddering, she heard Cassandra's voice playing through her mind, repeating the same words over and over again.

"What's happening to me?" whispered Aurora, feeling herself beginning to tremble once more as the memory of those burning eyes filled her mind.

(*)(*)(*)

**A/N: Thoughts on this Chapter?**


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